


Kill Crowley

by landahoymateys



Category: Kill Bill (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Character Death, DCBB 2013, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:16:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landahoymateys/pseuds/landahoymateys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is left for dead on the day of his wedding rehearsal. He embarks on a revenge mission the extent of which has never been matched against the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad. A group in which he used to be a member. As he plots to kill the five individuals that destroyed everything he loved he remembers how he got to this point, and searches for who betrayed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meg Masters

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE:  
> This is a fictitious world (much like the actual show Supernatural), and as such has elements that do not exist in our world. While reading this work of fiction, you must suspend your disbelief temporarily.
> 
> Warnings: Extreme Violence, Gore, Torture Imagery, Underage Sexual Exploitations, Vulgar and Sexual Language, Character Deaths

**VOLUME ONE**

 

“ **Revenge is a dish best served cold.”**

 

A young male, wearing a bloodied tuxedo was laid out on the ground, he whimpered slowly, dragging in breath by breath. Hmmph. Hmmph. Hmmph. Footsteps echoed the room, and a pair of leather Italian loafers came alongside him. “You think I'm sadistic don't ya' darling?” 

A starch white handkerchief lowered to wipe the blood from the young mans bloodied and freckled face. A monogramed _C_ adorned the white fabric. Shining green eyes turned to face the hand, looking up at the figure. 

The voice continued. “I'm not fucking sadistic. I loved you. And you were a royal neanderthal. And so I must say, ado.”

 “Crowley … wait ...” the bloodied groom whispered. 

Bang bang.

 

_I was five and he was six_

_We rode on horses made of sticks_

_He wore black and I wore white_

_He would always win the fight_

 

_Bang bang, he shot me down_

_Bang bang, I hit the ground_

_Bang bang, that awful sound_

_Bang bang, my baby shot me down._

 

_Seasons came and changed the time_

_When I grew up, I called him mine_

_He would always laugh and say_

_"Remember when we used to play?"_

 

_Bang bang, I shot you down_

_Bang bang, you hit the ground_

_Bang bang, that awful sound_

_Bang bang, I used to shoot you down._

 

_Music played, and people sang_

_Just for me, the church bells rang._

 

_Now he's gone, I don't know why_

_And till this day, sometimes I cry_

_He didn't even say goodbye_

_He didn't take the time to lie._

 

_Bang bang, he shot me down_

_Bang bang, I hit the ground_

_Bang bang, that awful sound_

_Bang bang, my baby shot me down..._

 

 

**Chapter One**

**Meg Masters**  

A yellow truck, adorned with red flames parks outside a suburban home. Across the back of the truck in swirly pink letters read “The Cock-Sucker”. 

The house is small, quaint. It has neatly trimmed square hedges around the edge, the type you gotta buy that way cause nobody got the time to cut each little twig perfectly. It's also got a stone path leading from the walkway to the garage. 

It's not that different from the other houses. 

The only difference is there's an ex-killer living in this house. 

A man with sun bleached light brown hair, and a worn brown leather jacket steps out of the truck. He has a hard look in his eyes as he walks up the walk. 

He rings the bell. 

A stout young woman with a mash of curly brown hair and an apple shaped face answers the door. 

She was there the day the groom was shot down in the little church. She shot him down just the same as all the others. She stood over him, with eternal red pouted lips and curtained in brown curls. She wore all black, like the rest, sporting a black leather jacket. 

The young man punches her in the face.  
  
---  
  
 

The woman goes flying backwards, hitting the staircase sitting beyond her doorway. The groom let's himself into the house. The woman is up within minutes, pulling a knife from her boots, swinging it at the groom.

 

He dodges and ducks, searching the grounds for something to defend himself with. He rolls into her living room, grabbing wooden coffee table as he does. He stands the coffee table up in front of himself, like a shield. The woman hacks at it with her knife and it starts peeling at the wood, leaving long splinters.

 He pushes backwards with the table, throwing her back into the modern black bookshelf at the bottom of the staircase. It lurches with impact. She loses her knife. 

Books start pouring onto the ground on top of her. 

Plop plop thunk. 

She picks up a particularly large anthology and tosses it at the grooms head as he peeks over the edge of the coffee table. She hits him smack on and he falls back, the coffee table coming down on top of him, and giving into the weight, it's legs collapsing. 

The woman takes a stout fat candlestick holder from the bookshelf and approaches the man. He grabs a leg of the coffee table to defend himself. 

They clash back and forth with their makeshift swords, each trying to butt the other or knock them on the head. The candlestick breaks the table leg into two, the metal being stronger than wood, and the woman takes a swing for the man's unguarded head. He ducks behind the t.v. stand, and the candlestick comes crashing down into the t.v., shattering the screen. The woman throws the stick behind her, unseeing, and it collides with the bookcase, causing it to finally topple over. 

She lunges herself at the man, knocking him back, and the two wrestle on the ground, each trying to get their hands around the other's neck. The man knees the woman in the chest, and she coughs up some blood, rolling away. 

She finds her discarded knife behind the couch as they both move to stand. She throws it at the man just as he jumps over the couch, landing on the head and causing it to tumble over and him to fall onto the woman, knife still protruding from his shoulder. 

The weight of the man causes them both to topple over. 

Screeeeeeech. 

The fight pauses as a school bus pulls up out front. 

The two stand quickly, the man pulling the knife from his shoulder and hiding it behind his back. 

Moments later the door swings open, to reveal a bright eyed young girl. 

The coffee table is broken, wood splinters and shattered glass scattered throughout the room. Papers and books toppled over from the upturned bookshelf. The t.v. - broken. The groom and the housemaker stood side by side, sweaty. 

She takes in the scene in the house, “Mommy?” - is all she gets out before the young woman turns a smile to her. 

“Y'know that bloody dog of yours? Made a mess out of the whole damn house. Told you he was just a mutt.” The girls eyes fall to the groom standing beside her mother. “Oh this is an old friend of your mommas. This is ****.” 

“Hey, what's your name sweetheart?” the groom addresses the young girl. 

The girl continues to stare at the man, and then swivels her head to her mother. 

“Now baby, **** asked you a question. Tell him your name.” 

“Nicki.”

“Oh that's a very pretty name sweetheart. How old are you sweetie?” the young mans southern drawl seeps into his voice.

 

“Four.” 

“Oh wow. I never got a chance to have any children. I once was almost married, but that didn't really work out.” the groom narrows his eyes at the woman. 

“Nicki, why don't you go upstairs and get started on your homework. I'll be up in a moment.” 

The girl, unmoving, continues to stare at her mother. 

“Nicki!” 

The girl runs up the stairs, without looking back at her mom. 

 _This Pasadena homemaker is named Meg Masters. But back when I knew her she didn't have a last name. Her codename was Copperhead, mine, Black Mamba._  

“I gotta get Nicki's cereal ready.” 

The groom follows Meg into the kitchen. 

“Bitches shouldn't be allowed to breed.” 

“Oh fuck you.” 

“You wish.” 

The two stare at each other for a moment, the air tense. Meg turns to the cabinet, rummaging for a bowl. 

Click, clack. 

She pulls down a bowl. 

The groom watches her carefully. 

She slides open a drawer and retrieves a spoon. 

Clang clang. 

It falls into the empty cereal bowl. 

“Look, I'm not going to gank you in front of your kid. Even though you deserve it bitch. In fact you deserve me killing you in front of her, waiting till the bastard who actually chose to marry you comes home, kill him in front of her too, and then shoot her 30 times and leave her for dead in your kitchen -” 

“Fuck you!”

 “-No Fuck You. Now what we're actually going to do, is this. There's a park about a quarter mile from here. Tonight, on the baseball diamond, 2:30 am, we dress in all black. We'll have ourselves an old fashioned knife fight.”

“Fine. Now if you'll excuse me.” 

Meg reaches for a box of cereal. She sticks her hand in the box, and whirls on the groom. 

Bang, bang. 

A hole blasts through the cereal box as a gun from within shoots towards the groom.

 The groom dodges her bullets and pulls a kitchen knife from the counter, throwing it towards Meg's chest. 

The knife sticks into her chest. Her eyes, lifeless, are left looking beyond the groom.

Thump. 

The groom turns to see a wide eyed child. 

“Sorry.” The groom takes a deep breath. “Little girl, your mother was a royal class bitch.” 

The groom pushes past the little girl to leave the house just the way he came. He steps over glass, paper, and wood on his exist. 

Crunch, creak, crunch. 

Once safely seated inside The Cock-Sucker, he pulls a pad from the center counsel.

 

**DEATH LIST FIVE**

1.  ~~RUBY~~

Cottonmouth

2\. MEG

Copperhead

 

He takes a sharpie marker from his pocket and crosses out number two on the list. With a smirk he recaps his marker and starts the car. 

 _I will never lie to you. So let me tell you something. You will break. And when you break, there will be those wishing to step on your broken body. If you want to survive, fight. Fight off god himself if you have to, kill your own brother._  

He pushes backwards with the table, throwing her back into the modern black bookshelf at the bottom of the staircase. It lurches with impact. She loses her knife. 

Books start pouring onto the ground on top of her.

Plop plop thunk.  


	2. The Blood Splattered Groom

**Chapter Two**

**The Blood Splattered Groom**

 

Two men in uniform walked through the small church house. One of their uniforms was that of the sheriff, he wore a hat. The other – a deputy. “Six dead altogether. They're calling it the church house massacre.” The deputy rambled as he stepped quicker to keep up with the sheriff.

 

The sheriff came to a stop beside the groom. “A bloody mess, huh?”

 

“Yeah sir. Whoever done this killed the whole damn wedding party. The groom, best man, maid of honor, the reverend and his wife. Even the old colored fella that plays the organ.”

 

The sheriff bends down to inspect the groom more closely. “Not a whoever, but a whoevers. This son of a bitch was shot by multiple shooters. What's the poor bastards name?”

 

“Name on the marriage license says Robert Plant, clearly a fake.”

 

“No shit, how long did it take you to figure out that one?” the deputy flushed from the insult.

 

“We just been calling him the groom, on account of the tux.”

 

“Well I'd say there were about 4 or 5 shooters, and this bright eyes over here was the main target.”

 

“Beaut ain't he? Golden brown hair, those nice plump lips? Blood splattered angel, ain't he?”  
As the sheriff went to stand, the groom spat in his face. “Tall dark drink of cock-sucker ain't dead.”

 

“Sheriff Henricksen?”

 

“Call the M.D., and find me that bride.”

 

***

 

The groom lay in the hospital bed, incapacitated from a comma.

 

Another young man, dressed in nurse white scrubs and a white eyepatch with a red cross over it walked down the hall, whistling an upbeat tune. He had dark brown hair, neatfully combed back, and a warming smile.

 

Toot, toot, tooot tooot.

 

He pulled back a syringe, filling it with an amber liquid.

 

Toot, toot. Toot, toot.

 

He smiled down at the groom, an unfriendly sneer.

 

**Michael –**

member

DEADLY VIPER ASSASSINATION SQUAD

codename:

CALIFORNIA MOUNTAIN SNAKE

 

“Y'know, I never liked you. Always the goody too shoes. In fact, I despise you. But I still respect you, bro. So I'm gonna fucking gift you one ****.” Michael brushed a comforting hand to the groom's cheek, in a sick distortion of comfort. He gave the cheek a light tap, tap.

 

Toot, toot, tooot tooot.

 

Riiiing riiiing.

 

Michael flips open his phone.

 

“Hello sweetheart.”

 

“Where are you now?”

 

“Standing over the ever lovely ****.”

 

“What's his condition?”

 

“Comatose.” Michael strokes the unconscious man's cheek almost lovingly.

 

“Abort the mission Michael.”

 

ASDFJ$#%$@#GJF

 

“Now now, Michael, calm down. We owe him better than this.”

 

“We don't owe that asswipe anything.”

 

“We're not animals MICHAEL. WE HAVE FUCKING STANDARDS. WE'LL DO THIS THE RIGHT WAY.” The voice on the other end of the phone took a calming breath. “We've done a lot of things to that man there. You above all of us know this. I shot him, you shot him, everyone fucking shot him. And yet, he's not fucking dead. So if he ever wakes up, we'll fuck him up. If he ever wakes, he'll wish he didn't. Now come home darling.”

 

“You always did have a soft spot for that fucker.” Michael spit out the last word.

 

“You're right. I did. But he's not my number one anymore, now is he, babe?”

 

“No.” Michael sighed.

 

“Now clean up and come home to me like he never could baby.”

 

“Alright. You're right. I love you.” Michael hangs up the phone with a particularly malice.

 

Michael turns his attention back to the man in the bed. “Do us all a favor, and don't you ever fucking wake up.”

 

**Four Years Later**

 

The groom takes in a huge gasp of air, shooting out of the bed. Awake.

 

He coughs out, clutching at his head. Looking around him, he sees the insides of his hospital room. Surrounded by unconscious bodies, he's the only one awake. He doesn't recognize any of the faces.

 

“No no no no. Sammy and Jo.” Tears stream down his face. He coughs up phlegm. “Cas...” He whispers. Agonized.

 

Footsteps are heard down the hall, approaching.

 

The groom falls back onto the bed, faking sleep.

 

The door pushes open, and two men enter.

 

The man in nurse's scrubs is short, has a few days old beard and a nervous twitch. The man beside him is tall and stout with a trucker cap. He looks greasy and slimy. They come to stand at the foot of the groom's bed.

 

“Well … this is him, ya'know, the guy, that we talked about?” The shorter one spoke with pauses every other word.

 

“Oh yeah.” The taller one was very eloquent.

 

“So it's, umm, $75 for a fuck. You gonna, y'know, get your freak on? Or?”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

“Well alright. Umm, so theres a couple, a-aaa, rules, I guess. So rule number 1, no punching, okay?” He turned to look to see if the taller was listening, but he seemed to be preoccupied in staring down the man in the hospital bed.

 

“Okay. Well rule number 2 is uh, yeah, no monkey bites, no hickeys, y'know. Actually, it'd probably be best if you didn't leave any marks of any kind.” his voice gets lower as the sentence progresses.

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

“So, are we cool? On you know, the rules?”

 

“Oh yeah.” The taller man licked his lips, grinning down at the comatose man.

 

“He's a beaut isn't he? Yea umm, just look at those cock-uh- cock-sucker lips.” The shorter man bit on his lip. “And he's still pretty responsive, y'know. He uh, just give him a rub down, or whatever, and he'll- uh- be all set, y'know, all ready to go?” The shorter man sways from foot to foot. “Okay I guess, I'll um, leave you to it.”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

The shorter man starts heading out of the room, “Oh fuck. I almost forgot.” He pulls a small plastic tub from his pocket, showing the label off to the other man. _Vasalube_. The tub is dirty, grimy from use. He tosses it to the man. “Well, umm, enjoy.”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

The shorter man leaves the other with the groom.

 

The man leans over the body in the bed, “You're the best damn asshole I've seen all day. I'm gonna enjoy this.”

 

The man screams out in anguish.

 

The groom, now awake, pulls away with blood all down his front. The trucker falls to the ground beside the bed, unmoving.

 

The groom pulls himself out of the bed and falls to the ground. His leg's won't cooperate. He tries to pull them behind him, crawling towards the door.

 

Toooot toooot toooot.

 

The groom hides behind the door as the whistling approaches. The male nurse takes in the scene before him, “Oh F--” He's pulled to the ground by the groom before he can finish his thought. The groom shoves his head into the door jamb and slams the door onto it. “FUCK FUCK FUCK.” The nurse screams.

 

SLAM.

 

“Where's Crowley?”

 

SLAM.

 

“Where's Crowley?”

 

SLAM.

 

“What?!? OWW! Who the fuck!?”

 

SLAM.

 

“Where's Crowley?”

 

SLAM

 

“I don't, I don't know who that is!”

 

The groom remembers the nurse introducing himself. _He stood before the bed that he was just lying in, looking down on him. 'Well um, hi there cutie. My name's Chuck, Chuck the drunk. Well that's what they call me at least. God you're pretty.'_

 

“You're Chuck. Chuck the drunk. Aren't you?” the groom demands.

 

“Yeah! Yeah! That's me! Listen!”

 

SLAM.

 

The groom rifles through Chuck's pockets. He finds a key ring. He looks at the keychain. THE COCKSUCKER is written in swirled pink letters.

 

The groom groans.

 

He rolls himself down the hospital hallways in a borrowed wheelchair, now adorned in Chuck's nurse scrubs. He makes it out to the parking lot and scans the lot for a truck worthy of the title 'Cocksucker'. He spots a yellow pickup truck with the same pink script along the back spelling 'The Cocksucker'.

 

“Motherfucker.” He curses under his breath.

 

The groom pulls himself into the truck, relaxing into the backseat. He stares at his feet. “Fucking move you lazy fucking bastards.” He curses at his feet. He groans.

 

“Now who the fuck could've sold me out?”

 

As the groom lies in the back of the truck, he thinks about the people who betrayed him. _There were five in the church that day. All members of the Deadly Vipers Assassination Squad. A highly lucrative underground organization that I used to be a member of. Being out of commission for four years, I don't know what's gone down. But the first on my list, my kill list, is also the easiest to find. Ruby._

 

**Ruby –**

member

DEADLY VIPER ASSASSINATION SQUAD

codename:

COTTONMOUTH

 

_Ruby is also the easiest to find, probably because she's the head of an underground arms dealership. Yeah. If I had cash flow and recognition like Ruby, I wouldn't hide it either. Either way, the bitch is going to pay._


	3. The Origin of Ruby

**Chapter Three**

**The Origin of Ruby**

 

Ruby was born in fucking nowhere, on American military soil. Her mom was some Armenian princess, or some bullshit. Who the fuck knows. But her dad, he was a soldier. And from what I hear, a damn good one. Anyways, their love story didn't exactly end all that pretty. Murdered. When Ruby was 9 fucking years old. My own mother died when I was 4, but that was a fire, nothing like what Ruby saw. Experienced. Her mom was killed, some old vengeance story. Ruby didn't know or care enough when she told me. Dunno. Anyways, her father was gutted, and her mother raped and beheaded right in front of her.

 

And the sick bitch that did it? None other than Lilith, a big time underground arms dealer in the middle east, selling high grade American military weaponry to insurgents. Probably where her father was involved in the whole bullcrap. But I don't mean to speculate. Anyways, Ruby was taken as a prison, a sort of sex slave for the ever horrible and bitchtastic Lilith. She was said to have an entire harem of underage girls. Creepy, I know.

 

But when Ruby was just 11, she escaped the witch's prison, stabbed her in her sleep. Fucked – Up. I kinda get why Ruby is such a disaster zone now actually.

 

Anyways, by aged 20 she became one of the top female assassins in the world. I could still kick her ass of course. Unless I was outnumbered 5-1, but yeah, that's another story. She made her way up the food chain. That's how Crowley got a hook in her.

 

And then, at 25, she helped kill 6 people in a Kansas City chapel. She made one fatal mistake however, she should've killed 7. And now, I'm going to kill them all. I'm going to fucking mess them up. They won't know what hit them.

 

But first … I have to do one thing. “Motherfuckers get moving.”

 

And just like that, my big toe wiggles.

 


	4. The Man with the Garage

**Chapter Four**

**The Man with the Garage**

 

The groom drove up the long drive, littered with trashed and half formed cars and automobiles. He pulled up outside a rusty, old fashioned home, the steps rotting with decay. Above the doorway hung a white sign, with black letters painted 'Singer Salvage'. The sign hung from one side only.

 

The groom's truck, the bright banana yellow painted Cocksucker stood out against its backdrop.

 

The door pushed open as the groom stepped out of the truck. An older man with a bushy brown beard and a worn baseball cap wheeled out onto the porch, in a wheelchair. “Get that monstrosity out of my house dang-nabit idjit!” The man cursed as he wheeled himself to the edge of the stairs, suddenly stranded at the edge of his own home.

 

The younger man chuckled. “You call this a monstrosity?” He purposefully scanned his eyes around the junked cars surrounding the home.

 

“Yeah well … none of them is painted yella.” The old man deflated at his words, and the younger smirked, seeing the older cave. “Well come on in then. I don't have all day. Names Bobby.”

 

The groom followed him into the house where he was immediately hit with a rich aroma. “Better put on enough for three!” Bobby called towards the kitchen.

 

A gawky head with stringy brown hair and a wide smile popped out of the door. “We have a guest? Excellent. I'm making chilly, hope you like compadre.” The groom nodded. “Excellent my friend.” The head popped back into the kitchen, a frilly apron bellowing behind him. The groom raised one eyebrow.

 

“Yeah that's Garth. A bit … unconventional, but, he means well. He helps out around here. On account of I ain't got legs no more.” Bobby gave a growl at this. “Well come on into the kitchen. Might as well eat before business. I assume you're here to junk that insult to automobiles out front.”

 

The groom grinned as he followed the older man.

 

Inside the kitchen the younger fellow, Garth, flowed around the kitchen like it was a ballroom. Bobby pulled up to the old wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. The groom followed. Bowls were placed before them and chili ladled into each.

 

“So if your not here for that eyesore, what can we do for you?”

 

“I'm looking for a gun.”

 

Clash.

 

Bobby frowned. Garth gaped.

 

“I don't make guns anymore. I own a fuckin' junkyard idjit!” Bobby punched the table.

 

The groom jumped to his feet. “You owe me Dickhead. Cause the rat I'm after is your former love-muffin.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

Bobby lead the groom to the basement using a self made chair lift that didn't look like it would hold. At the bottom of the stairs Garth helped him into a new wheelchair. He rolled up to a large steel door with one rectangular window in it. Garth turned the giant wheel to unlock the door and pull it open.

 

Inside the stone enforced room were guns hanging on every wall. Written in red paint, probably paint, covering most of the walls beyond the brackets were different symbols. “They're protection sigils. I need all the protection I can get.” Bobby rolled up to a rifle mounted to the far wall. “So you like guns huh? He took aim with it -

 

Bang.

 

The bullet whizzed past the grooms ear, lightly grazing it like a buzzing bee.

 

It embedded into the wall behind the groom. The groom continued to stand unflinching.

 

“Your gun will be ready in a month. You can train in the scrap yard while you wait. You'll need it.”

 

**One Month Later**

 

Bobby was seated at a metal table in what the groom came to call 'The Panic Room'. Garth stood beside him. As he approached Bobby laid the pistol out before him, spitting onto the barrel and rubbing it with the sleeve of his plaid shirt. “Well. It's done. Now kid. Guns don't kill people, people kill people. But if you want to kill someone, this'll do the trick.”

 

Bobby handed the groom the gun.

 

“Probably the best damn gun I've ever made. Named it the Colt. After my great great grandaddy Samuel Colt. Was quite the quick shot himself.” Bobby sighed. “Now I'm not doing this for you for free. You better kill that son of a bitch.”


	5. Showdown at the Pit

**Chapter Five**

**Showdown at The Pit**

 

It was one year after the massacre in Lawrence, Kansas that Crowley backed the struggle to decide who would take over Lilith's deranged empire. When all the dust cleared, it was Ruby that was left standing over the dilapidated corpses of those who had wronged her. She quickly cleaned house, and her people were known as the demons for their supreme viciousness.

 

Her second in command, and lawyer, is the ever as evil and lovely Eve. She's been Ruby's best friend for years, and another creation of Crowley's. They call her mother, but trust me when I say there is no motherly instincts in this one. She is ruthless, her specialty, killing kindly with poisons.

 

Ruby's personal body guard is just as fucked up a she-witch as her. Seventeen year old Tracy. She is one crazy fucked up bitch. It's easy to see why Ruby likes her. And don't let her youth and cheerleader uniform fool you. This girl slaughtered her entire art class after getting into an argument with her teacher over her pottery project. She was convinced she could harness the powers of the spirit world and unleash madness on the world through ghosts past. Ruby gave her a gun instead. She's still just as mad.

 

Once Ruby's age and femininity was brought up as a determent to the business. That poor sucker got shot in the head, point blank. No one has ever mentioned it again.

 

***

 

A black muscle car pulls up alongside the trendy convertible as the light turns red. Inside the convertible Eve talks on her cellphone, laughing.

 

The groom, inside the muscle car, turns up the volume on his radio.

 

_They gotta catch me if they want me to hang_

_Cause I'm back on the track and I'm beatin' the flack_

_Nobody's gonna get me on another rap_

_So look at me now I'm just makin' my play_

_Don't try to push your luck just get out of my way_

_Cause I'm back_

_Yes I'm back_

_Well I'm back_

_Yes I'm back_

 

The groom remembers Eve being their the day he died. She didn't care much for the killing, but was always attached to that phone. Talking and laughing as he panted on the ground, bleeding out. She would pay.

 

Ruby walked through The pit trailed by a team of demons in black masks. They were all armed to the teeth with the arms they made their blood money in.

 

The Pit is an underground dive bar, where the seedy folk reside. It's run by Ruby and her demons. It's where they go to relax and drink. Today there is an unwanted guest in attendance.

 

_We don't care if you think our party's cool_

_'Cause we do!_

_And we don't care if you had more fun in Sunday School_

_'Cause who invited you? Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

_What do I have to do to get rid of you? Who invited you?_

 

_You say you're everyone's best friend_

_But last night you made fun of all them_

_You never told me not to tell..._

_You trusted me, but you don't know me that well!_

 

_We don't care if you think our party's cool_

_'Cause we do!_

_And we don't care if you had more fun in Sunday School_

_'Cause who invited you? Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

_What do I have to do to get rid of you?_

_Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

 

The music pours through the thin walls of the room Ruby sits in with her demons. The demons are relaxed and rowdy, hitting on Eve and Tracy. Ruby is alert. She pulls out her hip gun and shoots through the sheetrock wall. The bullet lodges on the wall beyond, right beside the grooms head.

 

“Tracy go see whose outside.”

 

Tracy steps into the next room, scanning for intruders.

 

The groom hangs from the ceiling above, watching Tracy carefully.

 

_What do I have to do to get rid of you?_

_Who invited you?_

 

_Face it dude, you can't beat me_

_In your Charlie Brown shirt and Cavariccis._

_Baby, you come up to my waist_

_You need a barstool to get up in my face..._

 

Tracy re-enters the room.

 

Once clear the groom drops to the floor. He casually makes his way past the bar and the band as the song ends and another one begins.

 

_We don't care if you think our party's cool_

_'Cause we do!_

_And we don't care if you had more fun in Sunday School_

_'Cause who invited you? Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

_What do I have to do to get rid of you?_

_Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

_Who invited you?_

_What do I have to do to get rid of you?_

_Who invited you?_

 

The groom enters the bathroom and pulls off his leather jacket, laying in wait. Moments later he hears a phone ring, followed by the voice of Eve, chatting away on her phone.

 

The demons make fun of the server in their private room, laughing along, unknowingly.

 

The grooms voice calls out “Ruby, show your ugly bitch ass face!”

 

Ruby's demons pile out onto the balcony of the second floor, followed by Ruby herself and Tracy.

 

The groom stands behind Eve, using her as a shield with a gun held to her back.

 

He remembers Ruby the day he died. In his fury he shoots Eve's kneecaps out.

 

The crowds of civilians run out to the bar, leaving only Ruby and her demons and a screaming Eve.

 

Ruby's demon's start pouring down the staircase, rushing towards the groom, guns drawn. Their feet pound on the staircase.

 

Thump thump thump thump thump.

 

They funnel out, surrounding the groom on all sides. He swerves around, eyeing them as they close the gap between him and Ruby.

 

“You want to play? Fine I'll play with your toys first.” Dean throws Eve to the ground, at his feet, and brings his gun in front of him.

 

“Nice gun, where'd you get it?” Ruby calls down.

 

The groom smirks. “Bobby Singer.”

 

“You lie!”

 

“No lie.” A lazy grin, spreads his face. “Let me show you.”

 

Without looking behind him the groom shoots a demon behind him,

 

Bang.

 

The shot echos in the silent room.

 

The bullet pierces the head, leaving a perfect hole indentation.

 

The demon falls to the floor.

 

Plop.

 

“Ahhhh!” The other demons all fire on the groom at once.

 

He dives behind the bar, ducking behind the great wooden monstrosity as it is riddled with bullets.

 

Click click click click ….

 

The groom waits till their clips are emptied before jumping back over the bar and firing on the demons, taking out six before he has to reload.

 

He jumps over one of the demons as he's reloading his gun, grabbing him by his hair, and pulling him back. He grabs his now reloaded gun, and using him as a shield fires on his comrades.

 

He starts walking backwards across the bar, towards the bathrooms, the demons follow him, firing at him.

 

Bang bang bang bang bang bang.

 

The groom drops the corpse the same time the demons run out of ammo. He picks up a bar stool from the end of the bar and charges the closest demon, whacking his head with the barstool and knocking him out.

 

He crashes the stool down on top of the bar, splintering it, and breaking the leg off. He's left with a sharp shank.

 

He whirls around, surprising a demon sneaking up on him with a knife, and stabs him in the chest with his shank.

 

The demon, stumbles backwards, spitting up blood, falls to the floor, and chokes on his own blood.

 

The groom takes his knife and poses, knife outstretched, and waves to the three demons stood before him, poised with their own knives.

 

They take the bait and each jump on him at once.

 

He takes out the first by slitting his throat. Another jumps on his side, stabbing his hip, and he uses his elbow to uppercut her, breaking her nose and throwing her back onto the corpse of her comrade. She screams out, flailing and clutching her bleeding nose as she tries to get away from the corpse.

 

The third demon stabs the groom in the chest. He tries to pull the knife back out to attack again, but it's lodged in tightly. The groom glares at him, before stabbing him in the eye with his own knife. He screams, clutching his eye as blood gushes out of it. He runs backwards, blindly, running into the bar.

 

The groom pauses, to remove the knife from his chest.

 

Slishk.

 

Blood drips down his chest and face. He holds the bloody knife in one hand as he faces his next opponent, who stares at him bewildered.

 

The groom grins, revealing a bloody smile.

 

“Ahhhhh!” The demon yells as he runs at the groom, knife expanded.

 

The groom steps to the side and forward, jabbing the knife in his gut and twisting before the demon even reaches him.

 

The demon gasps for breath, and his eyes roll back.

 

The groom pulls the knife from his gut, and blood spurts forward, soaking his hand further and spraying up his chest.

 

The groom glances around the floor of the bar. It's scattered with bodies, a couple still alive and clutching their limbs. Blood coating the ground in a shiny red coating. And bullets littering the place.

 

The groom looks up to the balcony, where Ruby stands. He cocks an eyebrow. “That all you got?” He rasps out in a husky voice.

 

Tracy comes out from the back room, a bazooka set on her shoulder. “Hi!” She waves at the groom.

 

“Oh shit.” The groom curses.

 

Tracy comes to the edge of the balcony, setting the bazooka on her shoulder, and taking aim straight for him.

 

The groom begins running, towards the bathroom, as Tracy fires the weapon. He dives, aiming for the door of a supply closet. He swings the aluminum door open, throwing himself in, and slamming it shut behind him.

 

KABOOOOOM.

 

The wall on the side of him crumbles, collapsing into the closet and partially burying the groom.

 

He pushes the now dented and misshapen door open.

 

The bar now only has three walls, and no bar. The whole wall the bar sat on is demolished, rubble pouring out into night. Dust creates a fog, shielding the groom from seeing further than 10 feet in front of him.

 

A knife swings at his side, and suddenly Tracy is in front of him. He jumps back, dodging her outstretched hand. “Ah hhhh hhhh!” She screams in a high pitched howl, jacking the knife up and down and charging him.

 

The groom dives for the rubble, falling to the ground, and crawling across it, searching. He pulls up rocks, throwing them towards Tracy. She yells out as one clips her on the head.

 

Face red, and eyes wild, she charges at the groom, throwing herself on him. They struggle, the groom trying to keep her knife away from him, and Tracy trying to plunge it into his chest.

 

The groom reaches behind him, pinning Tracy back with one hand, and graps at his gun in the rubble of the fallen bar. He pulls it out, and shoots Tracy point blank in the head. It blasts her head open, splattering her brain back. She slumps forward onto the grooms chest. He throws her off, grabbing her knife and pocketing it.

 

The groom extracts himself from the rubble, and moves into the open air bar. The blood splattered groom stands in the middle of the room, shouting, “RUBY!”

 

The dust clears, and Ruby steps forward on the balcony. She's smiling. “You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?”

 

Slam.

 

Pound pound pound.

 

Smash.

 

The door bursts in and more demons pour in, wielding guns.

 

“Motherfucker.” The groom curses under his breath.

 

He dives once again into the rubble of the bar, burying himself beneath the cement as firepower rains down on him.

 

Bang bang bang bang bang bang.

 

The firing stops. The demons cautiously approach the rubble.

 

The groom jumps up, spraying cement blocks on the demons and temporarily distracting them as he shoots at them, taking them out.

 

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

 

He grabs one of the bodies that falls, and uses it to shove into one of the other demons, knocking them backwards, and stabbing into their chest as they go down.

 

Two more demons corner in on him, and he dives for cover, using a table as a shield.

 

He reloads his gun as the demons empty theirs.

 

He points his gun over the table, and starts shooting at the demons blind. A bullet clips his wrist and he pulls back, hissing.

 

“SSSSSSsssson of a ...” He grabs his wrist, and pulls a strip off his shirt, tying up his wrist.

 

The gunshots have stopped, leaving the bar silent.

 

The groom peeks over the table.

 

One demon is standing in the middle of the bar, he's holding a machine gun. He starts firing on the groom, completely decimating the table he's using as a shield. The groom makes a run from it, bullets nipping at his heels. He runs up the stairs to the second floor.

 

He jumps off the balcony, towards the machinist, knife outstretched. He falls onto the machinist, stabbing him with his knife in the chest, and stabbing upward. The demon gulps. The groom pulls the knife, and blood splattered upward, in a stream. He falls backwards, blood gushing up and surrounding him.

 

The groom pulls open the buttons on his shirt, revealing a kevlar vest punctured with several bullets. He throws his jacket and shirt to the side.

 

The lights go out.

 

The groom is attacked from both sides with demons wielding knives.

 

He uses the dark to his advantage and ducks their attacks, causing them to collide into one another, he rolls away, stabbing his next victim in the ankle. He takes his victims knife, now wielding a knife in each hand.

 

He twirls in a circle, knives outstretched, colliding with victims and slashing them. Blood spurts up, splashing onto him.

 

The lights return. One demon is standing before him.

 

The man is young, younger than the groom. He's shaking, clutching his knife to his chest.

 

The groom grabs his knife, and the man doesn't put up a fight.

 

The groom grabs him by the hair and pulls him towards him. He turns him around and uses the knife to spank his butt. “This. Is. What. Happens. When. You. Hang. Out. With. Demons.”

 

The man is wailing, tears running down his face.

 

The groom pushes him away. “Run home to your mother.”

 

The man runs away, running right out the blown in wall.

 

The groom turns to face the balcony. Ruby is standing at the edge of a ladder leading up to a latch opened in the roof. She smiles at the groom before ascending the ladder.

 

The groom runs after her, taking the steps two at a time.

 

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

 

When he reaches the top of the stairs he turns to look down from the balcony.

 

The room is strewn with bodies, splattered with blood, few injured groaning and clutching themselves.

 

The groom shouts, “To those of you lucky to still be alive – Go! Run home to your families! But leave your lost limbs behind, they belong to me now.” His grin is shining red with blood. “But not you Eve! I have a special job for you.” the groom says in a low voice.

 

“Why!!!” Eve screams out, sobbing.

 

The groom ascends the ladder, coming out onto the roof.

 

Ruby is stood a few feet away, clad in a black leather jumpsuit. Her profile is to the groom and she's staring off into the distance.

 

“The foundation of this building's probably not stable anymore, after Tracy ...” she trails off.

 

The groom grunts.

 

She turns to face him. “That was impressive, but it will take a bit more to kill me.”

 

“It took a bit more to kill me than what you and the rest of those bastards dealt out.” the groom replies.

 

“Ah yes. The chapel. Who knew you'd survive 30 gunshots?” A small smile lights up her face. “So we gonna do this traditionally than?”

 

“An old fashioned quick draw?” the grooms voice is raspy.

 

“You're such a cowboy.”

 

“Yes ma'am.” The groom pretends to tip his hat.

 

Ruby tilts her head, “Are you ready for death hunter?”

 

“Are you, demon bitch?”

 

They both grin.

 

They both turn away from each other at the same time, and take three steps away.

 

“One.” Dean grunts.

 

“Two.” Ruby says.

 

“Three!” They both shout and turn at the same time, hands going to their gun holsters. Dean's at his hip, Ruby's at her shoulder.

 

Bang. Bang.

 

The groom clutches his shoulder, fresh blood spluttering out of it and soaking his white undershirt shirt.

 

Ruby clutches her chest. “That really was a Singer huh?”

 

The groom nods.

 

Ruby grimaces, “Y'know. It was me that seduced that stupid oaf of a brother of yours. Was so eager to fall into my bed, didn't give a damn that he was killing his brother.”

 

Ruby's cackles fill the night air.

 

***

 

_A tall man with floppy hair and a grin the length of his face falls to the bed, laughing, pulling Ruby down beside him. He nuzzles into the space between her chin and shoulder. “God Ruby, you're amazing._

 

_Ruby smiles. “You too love bunny. Hey, when am I going to get to meet the eldest Winchester?” She smiles sweetly, twirling his long locks between her fingernails._

 

_The taller man plants a kiss on her forehead. “Soon, maybe, I don't know. **** has some things going on right now, but I'm supposed to be meeting him on Saturday. He said he has a surprise for me.”_

 

_Ruby grins, “Oh Sammy, what do you think it will be?” She kisses the underside of his chin._

 

“ _Ha, I think it probably has something to do with Cas. Apparently they ran_ _ **away**_ _together. You know? He asked me to meet him out in Kansas for brunch. I'm gonna leave Saturday.” Sam sighed contently, rubbing a hand up and down Ruby's side._

 

“ _Oh yeah? Where in Kansas?” Ruby's grin get's a little more devilish._

 

“ _Lawrence. It's where we were born you know. I haven't been back since. I guess it's an appropriate place for this reunion. I'm meeting him in a church, of all places! You think he found God during his sabbatical?” Sam bursts into giggles, then he flips on top of Ruby and starts tickling up her sides. She soon bursts into giggles too. But there's still a sly look in her eyes._

 

_Once Sam has fallen asleep, a goofy contented grin on his face, Ruby pulls out her cellphone. “Lawrence, Kansas. The church. Yeah I'm sure there's not more than one. Okay. Bye Crowley.” She flips the phone closed and slips it into her pocket. She slips on her shoes and closes the door behind her._

 

_***_

 

The groom shoots her again, straight between the eyes.

 

Bang. Thump.

 

She falls to the ground, soft drops of rain turning red around her and pooling beneath her.

 

Out front of The Pit the groom pops the trunk of his classic 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

 

A large crashing noise sounds, as the rest of the bar, falls to a crumble, leaving a cloud of smoke in it's wake.

 

CCCCCRRRRRAAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHHH.

 

He heaves a body into the trunk.

 

Mmhhhmhhhnnnmmm.

 

He looks down at the gagged and blindfolded body, grinning. “Alright bitch, I'm leaving you alive for one reason, and one reason alone. You tell that bastard that I'm coming for him.” He growls.

 

Slam.

 

The groom walks to the drivers side of his car, and pulls open the handle. He sits and turns the key in the emission. The radio immediately continues playing.

 

_No stop signs_

_Speed limit_

_Nobody's gonna slow me down_

_Like a wheel_

_Gonna spin it_

_Nobody's gonna mess me around_

_Hey satan_

_Payin' my dues_

_Playin' in a rockin' band_

_Hey mumma_

_Look at me_

_I'm on the way to the promised land_

_I'm on the highway to hell_

_Highway to hell_

_I'm on the highway to hell_

_Highway to hell_

_Don't stop me_

 

He reaches across the seat and takes a hold of his pad. He pulls the black sharpie from his pocket and crosses out number 1 on his list.

 

**DEATH LIST FIVE**

 1.  ~~RUBY~~

Cottonmouth

 

He pulls up alongside the hospital and unloads Eve's body. He rolls it down the hill leading to the hospital entrance. Some nurses on their smoke break witness the event and run to the body's aid.

 

***

 

Eve is surrounded by all white. White walls, white floor, a white hospital robe. She's missing both arms, and legs, a simple stump. Tears run down her face.

 

A hand clutches to Eve's shoulder, and gently strokes her chin. “Darling, mother, everything's going to be alright.”

 

Eve sobs. “I'm so sorry. Crowley, please. I'm sorry.”

 

“There there, there there.” Crowley's comforting is mechanical, rehearsed. “So Ruby told him, huh? Pray tell, does The groomie know that his little boy-toy is still alive?”

 

Eve sobs, but remains silent.

 

“Ah well.” Crowley clutches at Eve's neck, squeezing gently. “Can't be helped.” He twists her head back.

 

Crack.

 

***

 

The groom sat in his car. Contemplating Bobby's last words to him.

 

“ _It ain't gonna be easy idjit. But with the right tools you can do it. Just don't forget what you're after.”_

 

He pulled out a new notebook, bought in the convenience store and a sharpie. He began to write

 

**DEATH LIST FIVE**

 1. RUBY

Cottonmouth

 2. Meg

Copperhead

 3. Dick

Side Winder

 4. Michael

California Mountain Snake

 5. Crowley

 

“ _That bastard deserves his revenge, don't mean he's going to get it, but he deserves it.” A slick man in a suit spoke.  
_

“ _I hope he comes for me, I'll shoot him right between the eyes. I've always hated that asshole, he was always taking what was mine.” Michael spoke into his phone._

 

“ _How did you find me?” The groom, dressed in his wedding tux, asked._

 

“ _A man always has a way of finding what he wants but can't have.” the groom grins at Crowley's response._

 

 _**-** _ **END VOLUME ONE-**


	6. Massacre at Lawrence

**VOLUME TWO**

 

The young groom lied on the ground, spitting blood onto his fresh white pressed shirt. 

 

“You think I'm sadistic don't ya' darling?”

 

A starch white handkerchief lowered to wipe the blood from the young groom's mouth. A monogramed _C_ adorned the white fabric. Shining green eyes turned to face the hand, looking up at the figure.

 

The voice continued. “I'm not fucking sadistic. I loved you. And you were a royal neanderthal. And so I must say, ado.”

 

“Crowley … wait ...” the bloodied groom whispered.

 

Bang bang.

 

***

 

I almost died that day. Actually, I probably did die, along with everyone I loved. My brother Sam, best friend Jo, and Cas … But my body didn't die. Not even with 30 bullets lodged into it, the last one in my skull. No I lived on, in a comma, but alive. For four fuckin' years. 

 

And when I woke up? 

 

I set out to kill every fucking bastard who betrayed me. And boy did I kill them. My hands still smell like blood. But I'm not done yet. There's still one motherfucker on my list. And I'm driving there right the fuck now. And when I get there, let me tell you, when I get there, I'm going to fucking murder that cock sucking bastard Crowley. 

 

**Chapter Six**

**Massacre at Lawrence**

 

Now this whole story begins in small town America – Lawrence, Kansas. What happened there has become known as the Massacre at Lawrence. But the local news station called it the Lawrence, Kansas Wedding Chapel Massacre. I like the former, cause it reminds me of exactly what I lost. And boy did I fall far that day. 

 

The story's been exaggerated quite a bit, but let me tell you the whole truth, exactly as it happened. The killings, the end of my life, didn't actually happen during a wedding. It was actually a wedding rehearsal. 

 

*** 

 

The freckled groom sat beside another young man in a tuxedo, his intended. The reverend and his wife sat before him. “Now, when we say kiss the bride, or rather kiss the groom ...” the reverend made a wave from the one man to the other. The dark haired groom turned to his fiance and smiled softly. The other, rolled his eyes and turned his head, covering his blush with a hand. 

 

“... then you may kiss the groom. But please no tongue. This is a house of god, not a brothel.”

 

The blonde haired girl sitting behind the freckled groom giggled and elbowed the tall man beside her. He grinned too, a thousand watt smile, and let out a soft chuckle. The dark haired groom paled. 

 

“Your friends might find this funny, but nobody wants to see that ...”

 

“Brother.” the freckled one said the same time as - “I do” the blonde one. 

 

The reverend grimaced, and his wife smiled softly, patting his leg. 

 

“Well alright.”

 

“Ya' all got a song?” a black man sat at the piano at the other end of the chapel.

 

“Ya know any Metallica?” the freckled groom asked. 

 

His groom to be elbowed him.

 

“I know Love Me Tender.” 

 

“That would be fine.” the dark haired man said with a frown. 

 

“Rufus he's the man. Rufus, who was that you used to play for?”

 

“Rufus Thomas.”

 

“Rufus Thomas ...” the reverend repeated to the grooms. 

 

Rufus interrupted “I was a Drell. I was a Drifter. I was a Coaster. I was part of The Gang. I was a Bar-Kay … If they come through Texas, I done played with them.”

 

“Rufus … He's the man.” 

 

The dark haired groom turned to his partner, an eyebrow cocked. His partner grinned, one cheek dimpled. He leaned in to kiss his husband to be, softly on the lips. 

 

The reverend turned to his wife and whispered, “Have I forgot anything?”

 

“Oh yes. You forgot the seating arrangements.”

 

“Thank you momma.” He turned to the grooms. “Now the way we normally do this, we have the brides side, and we have the grooms side. But since you only got, what, three guests? Then it's okay I guess if you sit wherever. You sure you folks don't got nobody else?”

 

“It's good to have people.” the wife said. 

 

“All we need we got right here.” the freckle faced groom piped in. 

 

At that the doors to the church pushed open. A short balding man in a sharp suit walked through, his shoes clacking against the wooden panels. “Honey, I'm home!” He called as he entered.

 

The two grooms both tensed up immediately at the intrusion. Hands going to their hips. 

 

“I'm the father of the groom.” The reverend pointedly gazes at each of the grooms. “The bitchfaced one.” 

 

The freckled one grimaced and stood. His partner grabbed a hold of his thigh, squeezing. He nodded. “I'll be ok.”

 

The tall man seated behind the grooms, Sam, frowned, “You're not my brother's father.”

 

Crowley, the man who just entered, grinned, “So you're the other brother, huh? Quite the moose, unlike your brothers.” He winked. Sam squirmed in his seat and snapped his jaw shut. 

 

The groom could here the reverend continue talking to the rest of the bridal party as he stepped outside the church. He turned to face Crowley.

 

“So you're marrying that bird brain idiot.”

 

“Don't talk about Cas that way.” 

 

The groom gritted his teeth. 

 

“Whatever Romeo. Just wanted to visit, and say no hard feelings. I loved you, but you loved another, blah-d-blah. Just saying, I agree the best man won.”

 

The groom raised a brow. “It can't be that simple.”

 

“Well. I just wanted to see how sharp you look in your tux.” 

 

“You can't stay.” The groom raised his voice. 

 

Crowley tutted. “And what are you going to do with yourselves, hmm? You're killers, not homemakers.” 

 

“I bought a record store.”

 

“And Castiel?”

 

“He works in my record store.” 

 

Crowley sighed, “How mediocre. Well I guess if you want to play house, I can't stop you.”

 

The groom growled, running his fingers through his sandy colored hair. 

 

The other groom, Castiel suddenly appeared beside his partner. “What do you want Crowley.” He grasped his groom's shoulder, squeezing.

 

His partner looked into his eyes, smiling softly.

 

Crowley groaned. “You too are so sickening. So what's with the get-ups anyways. I thought this was a rehearsal.”

 

“We thought if we were going to pay for a set of tuxedo's and wear them once it would be a waste.” Castiel eyed Crowley. 

 

“Isn't it supposed to be bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her wedding dress before the ceremony?”

 

“Can it Crowley.” the freckled groom growled as his partner tilted his head in confusion. 

 

“You gentlemen just about done out there. We've got places to be, things to do.” The reverend called. 

 

The three entered the church, approaching the pulpit. “So is your father going to give you away?” 

 

The freckled face groom glared at the reverend. 

 

“Alright, let's begin.”

 

As the grooms take their place at the pulpit, Crowley stands by the last pew. 

 

A group of four, dressed all in black, enter the church wielding rifles. 

 

“What the hell?” The reverend calls out.

 

Ahhh ahhhh ahhhh.

 

Bang bang bang bang bang.

 

Ding. Ding. 

 

Silence falls on the chapel. 

 

***

 

“You telling me he cut through 88 bodyguards before he got to Ruby?” Dick lounged against a trailer.

 

“Nah, it wasn't really 88, I don't think.” Crowley stood before his brother, in a smartly dressed suit. 

 

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Then why'd you tell me it was 88?”

 

“It was an exaggeration! Haven't you ever heard of one!?” Crowley threw up his arms as he shouted out.

 

“It's an odd number too choose.”

 

“Whatever. Can. We. Please. Get. Back. On. Point.” Dick waved a hand to signal his brother should continue. “He's got a Singer. He made him one. Apparently dropping my name is enough to break a blood oath.”

 

“Well I don't blame him.” Dick purposefully glared at his brother.

 

Crowley sighed. “i'm just saying, keep your gun on you. Don't know why I bothered.”

 

“That crazy bastard is going to kill us all, and it's your own damn fault, and your stupid god damn libidy. Next time why don't you keep your dick in check, cause I don't belong to you anymore.”

 

“Do you still got your Singer I bought you or what?” 

 

“Or what.” Dick re-enters his trailer, slamming the door on his brother's face. 

 

“Ass.” 

 


	7. The Lonely Grave of Paula Shultz

**Chapter 7**

**The Lonely Grave of Paula Shultz**

 

Dick pulls his pickup truck into an empty parking lot. He enters a seeding looking bar with a sign with the word 'Paradise' written on it.

 

He walks through the open bar. The lights flash red.

 

Scantily clad women in angel costumes swing around poles. 

 

He approaches the bar. 

 

A balding man raises a brow at him, “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“There ain't nobody in here.” Dick wipes at the dust on the bar, looking down on it with a disgusted look. 

 

“Is that Dick here? Send him back here!” A voice yells from the back room.

 

“I heard him.” Dick sneers as he follows the voice to the back.

 

A man is snorting coke against a mirror. He lines up a row for a brunette woman sitting beside him. She snorts her own row.

 

“You looking for me?” Dick asks. 

 

“What the fuck kind of business you think I'm running here Dick? You used to be a business executive and you can't even show up for your shift the fuck on time.” 

 

“Do you want me to leave?” the woman asks.

 

“No I want you to sit your pretty little ass down there.” 

 

“There ain't nobody out there.” 

 

“Are you trying to say you're not needed here?”

 

“Well I'm a bouncer, and there ain't nobody to bounce.”

 

“So you're saying that you can't do the job I hired you to do cause there's no job to do? Are you saying that you're as useless as a butt right here?” He taps his fingers to his elbow. “Well I think you just fucking convinced me. Let's go to the calendar then.” He swirves to the calender, armed with a sharpie marker. “You working tomorrow? Well you ain't no more.” He crosses out the name.

 

“Working Friday? I don't think so.”

 

Another cross-out.

 

“And Saturday? Not anymore.”

 

Crosses.

 

“You know what. I want you to go home, and stay there. Don't call me and I want call you.” 

 

“Fuck you!” Dick explodes. “I don't need this crap. I used to own three of you.” Dick throws his former boss' desk over, spilling cash and cocaine across the ground. “I don't need this anymore, and I certainly don't need you.” 

 

Dick storms out of the room.

 

His boss raises an eyebrow, and the woman breaks out in giggles.

 

***

 

Dick pulls up to his trailer, and stops to light a cigarette. He looks out into the sandy dunes surrounding his home, the dark sky coating them. 

 

He enters the trailer and begins settle. The groom lies in wait beneath the trailer, gun lied beside him. Music plays.

 

_How many times have_

_You heard someone say_

_If I had his money_

_I could do things my way_

 

The groom crawled out from beneath the trailer. A black mask adorning his face.

 

_But little they know_

_That it's so hard to find_

_One rich man in ten_

_With a satisfied mind_

 

The groom leans against the outside wall of the trailer, gun trailing before him.

 

_Once I was winning_

_In fortune and fame_

_Everything that I dreamed for_

_To get a start in life's game_

 

A dog parks, and the record is suddenly stopped.

 

_Then suddenly it happened_

_I lost every diiii mmmmme -screechhhhh._

 

Dick stuck his head out the window, looking from side to side.

 

The groom planted himself against the trailer side, blending into the night.

 

The music started back up.

 

_How many times have_

_You heard someone say_

 

The groom pushed the door in, gun held before him.

 

Bang. Smash.

 

He went flying backwards, ten feet. The dirt swirled up around him in a cloud.

 

He grunted.

 

_If I had his money_

_I could do things my way_

 

Dick steps outside, walking over to the groom's body which is wiggling around in the sand, coughing.

 

Egch egch.

 

Dick shoves his shotgun under his chin. “You ain't going nowhere with that much rock salt in your chest.” A grin splits his face. He kneels beside him. “Probably stings pretty bad, huh?:

 

The groom is panting for breath, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot red. He spits on Dick's face. He struggles to get himself up, flipping onto his stomach. Dick bangs the back of his head with the butt of his gun. The groom passes out, face first into the sand.

 

Dick sits in a lawn chair, pulling out his cellphone.

 

Bring bring.

 

“Crowley.” Michael's voice filters through the phone.

 

“Wrong brother, you ugly bastard.”

 

“Dick.”

 

“You got it.”

 

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

“I just caught myself the wayward groom.”

 

“And did you kill him?”

 

“Not yet. Shot him full of rock salt, watched him struggle a bit, then knocked him out.”

 

Michael takes a drag of his cigarette.

 

“Lucky you.”

 

Dick paces towards the body, retrieving the groom's gun.

 

“Guess what I got in my hands?”

  
“What?”

 

He turns the gun over, inspecting the inscription on the barrel.

 

“Brand new Bobby Singer. Made special for killing Crowley's.”

 

Michael sighs.

 

“How much.”

 

“Hmm. Let's call it a million. Just get your pretty little ass down here tomorrow morning. Cash.”

 

“Fine. Just one thing, make that bastard suffer.”

 

“Oh don't you worry about that.”

 

“Good.”

 

Michael hangs up the phone.

 

***

 

The groom wakes up. His legs and hands are bound. He's lying on his stomach. It's dark. The sounds of digging are heard.

 

Cling clang.

 

There's a clanging noise, and Dick's face appears before him.

 

“Time to rise and shine!”

 

Dick pulls the grooms bound body from the bed of this truck.

 

Thump.

 

His head hits the ground. He's slid to the edge of a hollowed grave.

 

“Dick! Help me out of here.” A voice calls from inside the hole.

 

Dick leans down to help pull his friend out of the hole. Another man in a baseball cap and fleece comes to stand over the groom.

 

“Wow, look at this jerkoff. His eyes are furious.”

 

“Well wouldn't you be if you were pumped full of rock salt and drug to your grave?”

 

The friend laughs. “He's a right pretty cock-sucker, ain't he?”

 

They both laugh. The friend takes a sip of his beer.

 

“You got any last words?” Dick addresses the groom.

 

He glares at them, holding his tongue.

 

“I think he's giving you the silent treatment.”

 

“You get the feet, I'll get the head.”

 

Dick goes to grab the grooms shoulders the same time his friend grabs the feet. The groom struggles, kicking out. Dick shoves a canister in his face. “You see this bitch? This is mace. You keep struggling and you get this in your face. And if you're a good little bitch, I'll bury you with a flashlight. How does that sound?”

 

The groom grunts, but falls still.

 

The two men resume their lifting, dropping the man into his own wooden coffin.

 

Plop.

 

“This is for breaking my brother's heart.” Dick lowers the lid to the coffin.

 

Bang bang bang.

 

Dick nails the lid shut.

 

The groom clutches the flashlight to his chest, groaning, as the last bits of light leave the box.

 

Bang bang bang.

 

He huffs in breath after breath, inhaling as much as his lungs will take. Huffffff. Huffffff. Huffffff.

 

Bang bang bang.

 

His breaths get quicker, less paces between.

 

Bang bang bang.

 

The last tendrils of life leave.

 

Huh huh huh huh huh.

 

Crash Crash Crash.

 

Dirt is lowered on top of the coffin lid.

 

The groom begins to pound on the coffin lid.

 

Knock knock knock.

 

Crash crash crash.

 

The groom turns on his flash light, looking around the coffin in a panic.

 

Crash crash crash.

 

UGHAHHHH. The groom lets out a low scream.

 

Crash crash crash.

 

Huffffff hufffff hufffff.

 

The grooms breathing begins to even.

 

He clicks off his flashlight.

   
  
---


	8. The Cruel Tutelage of Alastair

 

**Chapter Eight**

**The Cruel Tutelage of Alastair**

Crowley and the groom sat around a burning fireplace. They were surrounded by darkness except the gentle flickering light from the fire. The groom was relaxed, slouching against a rolled up sleeping bag, watching Crowley as he sharpened his knife. Crowley, paused in his ministrations, “Once upon a time, in the Mojave Desert in Eastern California, in the valley known as Death Valley, a retired soldier, Alastair, was traveling through, contemplating the horrors of the war he'd just witnessed. He passed a young Spanish man, traveling by donkey along the valley floor. As they passed Alastair, having suffered great and unusual cruelties in the war, had flashbacks to his moments in trench. The boy, suddenly developed the face of his enemy. Alastair, crazed and hungry for blood, carved up the boy's insides. After that Alastair went on a massacre, kidnapping and torturing young men and carving out their spleens.”

 

The groom grimaced, but Crowley, unknowingly, or uncaring, continued, “It was that day that he developed his fatal knife twist. With a single twist of his knife, lodged in your chest, he can pull out your heart cleanly.” The groom whistled. “I know, highly impressive. But what's most impressive about this technique, is the heart continues to beat. It isn't until the victim takes it's first step that his body realizes his heart is no longer with him, and he falls dead.”

 

“And did Alastair teach you this technique?”

 

“Fuck no, stingy bastard doesn't teach it to anyone. And fuck he's ancient too. Gonna die someday.”

 

The groom grinned. Crowley continued sharpening his knife. “Now after hearing that story, I don't think I have to tell you, if you cross the son of a bitch, he won't kill you, but you'll wish you were dead.” Crowley finished by stabbing his now sharpened knife into the dirt.

 

The groom turned over onto his back, staring into the sky until he fell asleep.

 

***

 

Crowley emerged from the dungeon Alastair had called home, a cut ran down his face.

“You get beat up boss?”

 

“Friendly disagreement. But Alastair has agreed to teach you.”

 

“Why?” The groom frowned deeply, his eyebrow furrowing.

 

Crowley pulled a duffle bag out of the trunk and tossed it at the groom.

 

“Cause he's a lonely bastard. And he's always looking to corrupt the youth. Have fun babe.” He climbed into his car. “And try not to die, kay?” He pulled away from the dilapidated old house that sat atop Alastair's dungeon. It was clear that the house itself had not had guests in ages.

 

The wood creaked as the groom entered the house through the doorless entryway. The whole place smelled like mold and wet wood. The floor panels were splintered and covered with holes the size of rats. The groom stepped through carefully, avoiding all obstacles. He made it to the dark doorway that lead underground. The set of stairs leading to the basement was stone and much more solidly defined.

 

His footsteps echoed as he descended into the pure darkness. He held onto the stone walls encasing the stairway to prevent missteps, and descended carefully. When he came to the bottom it was to a large circular room, open with one lantern lighting the room.

 

Chained to the wall was a man stripped and gagged, his skin dripping off him in waterfalls. An older man with a beard and a crooked nose stood before him, holding a carving knife.

 

The groom dropped his bag to the ground. “You Alastair?”

 

The older man frowned, twisting his knife in his fingers. “So you're the brat Crowley sent me. Well let me tell you something dog. From now on you're my pet. You do as I say when I say. You do not speak unless spoken to, or you will be punished.”

 

The groom bowed his head.

 

“Now, Fido, tell me, what do you know?”

 

“I know how to shoot a crossbow, and I am pretty good with a machete. I am a master quickshot.”

 

“A master quickshot he says?” Alastair giggled as he addressed the unconscious body hanging from the wall. “Thinks he knows something cause he can shoot a little gun.” Alastair skinned the man's cheek with the knife very delicately as he spoke.

 

“Alright boy, come a little closer, let me see your pretty face.” The groom grunted, and took a step forward, puffing out his chest. “Tsk tsk. No use giving me that attitude, it won't get you nowhere.” He turned to look the groom in the eyes finally. “Pretty little thing, ain't ya? I'd love to carve your eyes out and hang them over my bed, like a baby mobile.”

 

The groom pulled out his gun, aiming it for Alastair.

 

Alastair broke into giggle. “You going to shoot me boy? Well go on and do it. Kill me. If you can do it, then you'll be free to go. Just kill me and you walk right out of here.” Alastair waved his hand towards the stairway the groom had walked through. “But if you don't, then I get to string you up, right here beside my friend.” He gestured to the man currently hanging from his wall.

 

The groom, took aim for Alastair's shoulder, lodging a bullet there. Alastair, not even flinching, was before the groom, sticking his knife into the meat of his shoulder. The groom screamed out, falling to his knees in agony.

 

“Ahhhhh!”

 

“I'll take this now pet.” He pried the gun from the groom's fingers, tossing it to the side. “Lovely, looks like I'll have another guest on my wall.” He grinned.

 

The groom glared up at the man.

 

Alastair laugh.

 

The groom suddenly grabbed a hold of his legs and pulled, dragging him to the floor.

 

“OOOFFF.”

 

BANG.

 

He crawled on top of Alastair, bringing his hands around his neck to choke him.

 

Alastair continued to laugh, as his breath was pulled from his lungs..

 

Alastair pulled a knife from his pocket and stabbed it into the grooms side, twisting.

 

The groom fell to the side, throwing up blood.

 

Alastair was suddenly standing above him, a larger knife slowly trailing down the groom's spine. “From this position I could permanently disable you. It would just take three clean cuts, not even that deep.” His grin widened. “Do you want to lose use of your legs Fido?”

 

“No.” the groom growled.

 

“Then bark for me.”

 

The groom gritted his teeth.

 

“I said bark!”

 

“Woof.”

 

“Again.”

 

“Woof woof.”

 

The groom choked, spitting up blood.

 

“Good boy.”

 

Alastair grabbed a hold of the groom's hands in of his own hand, and dragged him along the cement ground. He pulled him up to the shackles beside the other man. He took one hand and entrapped it, and then the other. The groom continued coughing, blood spilling out his mouth and staining his shirt.

 

Alastair disappeared into the next room and returned moments later with a canvas roll and a small silver brace. The grooms eyes widened as he unrolled the wrap to reveal an assortment of different knives. He shoved the silver brace into the groom's mouth, effectively gagging him. “Let's begin our lessons.” Alastair stated as he pulled out a pair of small silver scissors.

 

***

 

Alastair lifted the young man, hog tied, and dumped him into a wooden crate. “Lesson number thirty two. I lock you in this box. You try to get out, if you fail I punish you. If you succeed, I'll let you help me punish the bitch I picked up this morning.” The groom glared at Alastair from the depths of the box where his arms and legs were bound together and he was gagged.

 

Alastair giggled.

 

“Oh you're so cute when you act all defiant like that. I can tell why Crowley likes you.” he winks. “If you didn't belong to my favorite pupil I think I'd try and steal you away.”

 

He closes the lid of the box, enveloping the groom in darkness.

 

Click.

 

The lock on the box is set.

 

***

 

_The groom hauled a body wrapped in canvas up the stairs. Once outside Alastair handed him a saw._

 

_***_

 

_Alastair slapped the young man who was screaming until he quieted into a low sob. He had cuts running in lanes down his chest. He wasn't even a man, more like a boy. Alastair handed a small curved knife to the groom and pointed to the boy's eye. The boy began begging “No please no.” The groom stepped in front of the boy and slapped him to quiet him._

 

_***_

 

_The groom placed each one of the detached limbs into a separate canvas bag, tying them off tightly._

 

_***_

 

_The eye was placed in a mason jar filled with a blue liquid and Alastair instructed the groom to cut off the boy's pants._

 

_***_

 

_The groom hung from the chains off the wall, he gritted his teeth as Alastair ran his knife down his chest. “Good boy.”_

 

_***_

 

The groom's fist punched through the wooden crate, bursting a hole through it. Another punch broke the hole bigger. Another and another. Once the hole was large enough a set of shoulders and a head popped through.

 

Alastair sat in a dirty old lawn chair in front of the box, smoking a pipe. He raised an eyebrow at the groom as he finished climbing out of the box. “Good boy. Now let's go meet your prize.”

 

***

 

The groom lay in his coffin under the tombstone of Paula Shultz.

 

His ankles were bound together using a canvas red belt. He wiggled his feet around in his black combat boots until he was able to slip his feet out, the belt coming undone with them. He used his now freed feet to maneuver around inside his boots.

 

Clang.

 

His switchblade fell out into the coffin. He grasped it between his ankles and slid it as far up as the room in the coffin would allow. He scooted down until he could lift it with his bound hands.

 

Swish.

 

He flipped the knife open with the press of a button.

 

Ssszzz ssszzz ssszzzz.

 

He began to saw at the ropes that bound him.

 

His wrists became freed and he rolled them to bring circulation back to his fingers.

 

He threw his head back and breathed in deeply.

 

He brought his fingers to rest against the coffin lid.

 

Slam.

 

He punched into the lid.

 

Slam slam slam.

 

Blood soaked the lid of the coffin.

 

Slam slam slam.

 

Cracks formed in the lid and dirt began to trickle in.

 

Slam slam slam.

 

The entire lid started to cave in, and the groom was bombarded with dirt.

 

He pushed through the dirt as it fell onto him, caving him in. He swam upward, like he was pushing to the surface of a pool.

 

His hands breached the surface, parting the top soil for his head to pop through.

 

Huuuufffffffffff. Huuuuuffffffffff.

 

He took in two long breaths before pulling himself all the way out of his grave. He dug his hands into the soft dirt, heaving his body out and clawing forward.

 

He collapsed onto the dirt surrounding the grave, panting.

 

Moments later he walked into a diner a mile outside the cemetery. He took a seat at the bar, covered head to two in dirt. The waiter stared at him, bug-eyed.

 

“Can I get some water over here?” 


	9. MICHAEL and I

**Chapter Nine**

**MICHAEL and I**

 

Michael drove threw the desert in his black convertible, an eagle painted on the hood. He swerved along the winding dunes, dust spitting up behind him. As he pulled out front of Dick's trailer, the man himself stood in the doorway, dressed in an impeccable suit. It stood out against the sandy backdrop of his trailered home.

 

Michael exited his car, a small red suitcase in hand and followed Dick into his home. He's dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown leather jacket over a white dress shirt, along with his ever present black eyepatch.

 

The sun beat hot in the desert.

 

The groom walked through the miles of sand, barefoot and still covered in dirt.

 

He made it to the outskirts of Dick's trailer, standing atop a dune overlooking the scene, just as Michael pulled up to the trailer.

 

Red flashed in his eyes. These were two of the people responsible for the death's of his loved ones.

 

Michael sat at a table in Dick's trailer.

 

Dick fiddled with an old ice cube tray, falling apart.

 

“So you treated him to a Texas funeral?” Michael inquired.

 

“Yup.”

 

“Ha. I have to admit, that's probably even better than I could've came up with.”

 

“I doubt it, you're a heartless bastard.”

 

Michael chuckled. He pulled out a pad from his pocket, “Now what's the grave he's buried under?”

 

“Paula” Dick threw some ice cubes into a blender, “Shultz.”

 

Clang clang.

 

“You must have had some sick falling out, worse than mine and my brothers.”

 

Michael shrugged in response. He scanned the room, his eyes laid on a gun sat atop Dick's bookshelf. “That the gun?”

 

“That my money?” Dick gestured to the suitcase.

 

“You got it.”

 

Dick poured tequila into the blender.

 

“Then it's your sword.”

 

He poured in a bottled margarita mix.

 

Michael picked up the gun and started inspecting it, turning it over.

 

Dick turned the blender on.

 

Shhhhhhhch.

 

Michael mumbled.

 

Mmmttthhh.

 

The blender stopped.

 

“What's that?”

 

“So this is a Bobby Singer?” Michael continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

 

“Of course it is. Do I look like a liar and a cheat?” Dick grinned.

 

Michael raised his eyebrow but didn't comment. “So, you used to have one, right?”

 

“Yeah, gift from my brother.”

 

Michael sighed. “My brothers never gave me any presents like that.” Dick laughed.

 

“So how does this gun compare to yours?” Michael raised one brow.

 

Dick rolled his eyes. “That's not how it works. If you're going to compare a Singer gun, you compare it to ever gun that wasn't made by Bobby Singer.

 

Dick pulls out two mason jars with the green liquid from the blender. He hands one to Michael. “Wrap your lips around that.” He grins cheekily.

 

Michael glares at him but takes the jar, sitting in an old rocking chair.

 

Dick sits on his pulled out bed, pulling the suitcase between his legs. He sighs as he sits back and takes a sip of his drink. “So, now that you're out of the business, my old brother retired. How do you you feel? Relieved or Regretful?”

 

Michael pauses momentarily, as if to think. “Both I guess.”

 

Dick sighs, “That's not how it works, again. Now which one is it?”

 

Michael twirls his glass in his fingers, “Regret.”

 

“Y'know. I never saw someone fuck over my brother quite like him. I tried to warn him, don't go chasing no pretty boys like that, but he was thinking with his dick not his head.” Dick purposefully looks at Michael.

 

Dick picks up his suitcase and carries it over to the table, placing it on top.

 

Michael follows his moves from his seat.

 

Dick unzips the bag, and pulls it open.

 

It's filled with bundled stacks of 100 dollar bills.

 

Dick begins to laugh.

 

“Thanks darling.

 

Michael bites down on his ice cube.

 

He begins to pull out stacks of bills, chuckling as he does.

 

Michael goes to stand in the doorway.

 

After four or so stacks, he reveals a snake, hidden beneath the money.

 

Before Dick can move the snake jumps at his face, hissing.

 

SSSSSSS.

 

“Ahhhhh!”

 

Dick jumps up and back, the snake follows, nipping at his cheek.

 

Dick turns over the suitcase in his troubles, and knocks down the items on his table. He flails backwards, and around, knocking down his chair and the contents of his counter.

 

He flails and falls to the ground, panting for air.

 

Michael stands over him, lighting a cigarette.

 

“Sorry Dick. But that right there is a Black Mamba. You know much about Black Mamba's? Well I do. In fact I did a little research. Now listen to this.” Michael returns to his seat in the rocking chair, pulling out his pad again. He turns to a certain page. “In Africa, the saying goes in the bush an elephant can kill you, a leopard can kill you, and a Black Mamba can kill you. But only with Mamba, and this has been true in Africa since the dawn of time, is death sure. Hence it's handle, Death Incarnate. Pretty cool huh?”

 

Michael turns to the next page of his note filled book. “It's neurotoxin venom is one of nature's most affective poisons, acting on the nervous system, causing paralysis. The venom of the Black Mamba can kill a human being in four hours, being bitten on the ankle or the thumb. However, a bite to the face or torso can bring death in twenty minutes. Now you should listen to this, cause this concerns you.”

 

Michael points his thumb at Dick. He turns the page in his notebook. “The amount of venom that can be delivered in a single bite can be gargantuan.” Michael takes a drag of his cigarette. “You know, I've always liked that word gargantuan. So rarely have an opportunity to use it in a sentence.”

 

He returns to reading. “If not treated quickly with anti-venom 10-15 milligrams can be fatal to human beings. However, the Black Mamba can deliver up to 100-400 milligrams in one single bite.” Michael flips his notebook closed, putting it into the pocket of his jacket.

 

Dick rolls over, revealing two perfectly circular bite marks on his right cheek. He's panting for breath and his face is a swollen red.

 

“So, let's return to your question.” Michael leans forward so his face is in Dick's. “What I'm feeling right now, is regret. Regret that you got to the best god damn fighter I've ever known, my personal hero for most of my childhood, before I could. I should've been the one to kill him, it was my duty. Not some piece of shit like you.

 

Dick grumbled, struggling to breath, and rolled over, his eyes shutting.

 

He finally laid still, quiet, in the pile of money that had killed him.

 

Michael picked up the suitcase he had brought with him and began shoving dollars into it.

 

His phone rang.

 

“Crowley. Bad news. Your brother's dead. Your ex put a Black Mamba in his trailer. Too bad, boo-hoo. Good riddance I say. What are brother's for, nothing but trouble? But don't worry about it. I took care of him. If you want to pay your last respects go down to Barstow, California. When you get here, walk into a florist and buy a bunch of flowers. Then you take those flowers to Huntington cemetery on Fuller and Guadalupe, look for the headstone marked Paula Schultz, then lay them on the grave. Because you will be standing at the final resting place of DEAN WINCHESTER.”

 

***

 

_The teacher walked around the classroom, calling out attendance._

 

“ _Daisy Lane?”_

 

“ _Here!”_

 

“ _Jordan Lance?”_

 

“ _Here!”_

 

“ _Michael ...”_

 

“ _Here!”_

 

“ _And Dean Winchester?”_

 

_The groom sat in a small child's desk, “Here!”_

 

***

 

“Alright baby I'll see you soon.” Michael finished stuffing the money into the suitcase, zipping it closed.

 

He pulled open the door and a pair of bare feet came flying at him, pushing him back into the far wall of the trailer. He crashed into a bookcase, his head banging against the glass and causing it to shatter. He went to grab his gun from it's holster, now at his belt and Dean pushed it back in, punching him in the face.

 

Michael went flying into the table this time, knocking over the glasses him and Dick had drank from.

 

He charges at Dean, backing him against the wall. He pulls his gun, and Dean gets a hold on it.

 

They both struggle for control of the gun, glaring into one anothers eyes.

 

Dean knees Michael in the crotch and he shouts out, falling backwards onto the bed.

 

Dean pushes over him, using the barrel of the gun to choke off the other man.

 

Michael kicks Dean in the shin from his position beneath him. Dean huffs out but does not let up, pushing down harder on Michael's neck. Michael head butts Dean, from his position a few inches from him.

 

Dean falls back, stumbling into the hallway.

 

They both recover at the same time and charge at one another, their chests colliding and bouncing backwards. Dean falls back into the hallway, a few feet away. Michel falls onto the carpeted floor of Dick's living room.

 

They both recover, Michael grabbing his gun and Dean a floor lamp. Before Michael could take aim Dean swings the lamp at him knocking him back. Dean falls backwards too from the impact and shimmies behind the table. He takes in a deep breath.

 

Michael pulls the safety back on his gun and aims it at Dean. Dean grabs a can from the table and throws its contents at Michael. His face is drenched in a brown sludge, chewed tar. “Gross.” Michael grunts, wiping it from his face.

 

Dean takes up the rocking chair as a shield as Michael once again aims his gun at him. Michael shoots the gun as Dean knocks it out of his hands with the chair. Both go flying to the other side of the room.

 

Dean takes up an acoustic guitar, wielding it like an axe and chopping down at Michael. Michael ducks out of the way and flips over the kitchen counter, landing softly on top of Dick. He rolls out of the way while Dean smashes the guitar over the counter and tosses it aside.

 

Dean jumps over the counter to meet Michael on the other side, but Michael jumps up and grabs an overhang in the kitchen, kicking his legs out and colliding with Dean. Dean goes flying backwards into the living room and landing on the pull out bed.

 

Michael poses, jumping up, leg outstretched and aiming for Dean. Dean grabs a hold of his leg before it collides with him and throws Michael aside like a rag doll. Michael goes crashing through the wall behind Dick's bed.

 

Michael crashes into the bathroom and Dean jumps in after him, taking Michael into a choke hold and holding him as he kicks around struggling to be freed. Michael manages to roll onto his stomach, Dean on top of him and holding him down.

 

He pushes off to a standing position, taking Dean with him. Dean holds on tight, choking the air out of Michael's lungs till his face is red. Michael tries to throw him off, throwing his back into the wall and whipping back and forth, and punching at his head. Dean holds tight.

 

Dean pulls off and grabs a hold of Michael's head and shoves it into the toilet bowl.

 

Michael gurgles on the toilet water, struggling to reach out with his hands. He grabs a hold of the flusher and pulls, draining the water and giving him a breath. He punches Dean, knocking him backwards.

 

While Dean's recovering Michael tries to climb back into the living room for his sword, Dean pulls him back into the bathroom, punching him and throwing him against the wall. Dean falls threw the wall into the hallway.

 

Michael chases after him, picking him up and punching him till he flies back, down to the end of the hall. Dean takes a moment to breath, looking around him. He spots a gun in an umbrella stand.

 

Michael runs back to the living room to grab his gun.

 

Dean picks up the gun, he turns over the barrel. 'To My Brother Dick, The Only Man I Ever Loved, - C' Is inscribed on it. It also has the seal of Bobby Singer on the handle.

 

Michael comes to the end of the hallway, gun poised and aimed for Dean. Dean is already waiting for him, the gun he retrieved from the umbrella stand aimed at Michael.

 

“What's that?”

 

“Dick's Singer gun.”

 

“He said he pawned it.”

 

“He lied.” Dean's face is covered in dried blood, giving it a red sheen.

 

Michael glares at him, eyes set. He has a cut running the length of his cheek.

 

“Michael?”

 

“Dean?”

 

“What did you ever say to Alastair to make him take out your eye like that?”

 

Michael huffs. “I called him a miserable old fool.”

 

“Bad idea.” Dean shakes his head.

 

“Y'know what I did, I killed that miserable old fool.” He cocks an eyebrow at Dean. “I poisoned his beans.”

 

***

 

_Alastair sat at a low table in his dungeon, Michael stood over him laughing. Alastair choked._

 

“ _What did you do, pup?”_

 

“ _I think I poisoned your food, dog.”_

 

_Alastair falls back, clutching at his chest, he knocks his bowl off the table._

 

_Michael steps closer._

 

“ _I swear pup, you will be punished -”_

 

“ _You think I care what a miserable old fool has to say?” He puts his foot on Alastair's chest, stopping him from rolling back and forth._

 

“ _Cause I don't.” He steps onto his neck, stopping down and crushing it._

 

***

 

“That's right, I killed the master.” Michael grins.

 

“Too bad.” Dean shakes his head. “I would've liked to do it myself.”

 

“Well you don't get that honor. You never get anything again.” Michael glares.

 

Dean grunts, glaring at the ground, “What the hell did I ever do to you Michael? I only ever took care of you, watched out for you.”

 

“You took care of me? No! You only took care of yourself. Only cared about your own reputation, Dean Winchester, the good one, the righteous one, the better shot, the responsible one, the hero. You always took everything that was mine, everything I deserved. You took him!”

 

Dean looked up at Michael, horrified, “What the fuck Michael, you mean ...”

 

“Yeah that's right. You got Crowley, he only wanted you, even though I was right there and willing, I'm just as good as you, just as pretty as you. For fuck's sake we're twins! Why the fuck did he want you and not me!” Tears dripped down his face.

 

***

 

_Two perfectly identical little boys sat next to each other, coloring from the same coloring book. They both went for the red crayon at the same time, the brother on the left smiled and handed it to his brother. The other brother took it with a smile and began to color._

 

_A girl in a pink dress came to stand in front of them. “Dean Winchester?”_

 

_The boy on the left looked up at the girl, smiling shyly. “Yeah?”_

 

“ _I was wondering if you wanted to play with us.” She pointed back to her group of friends._

 

_Dean grinned and nodded. He jumped up and chased after her._

 

_Michael sat there, glaring after his brother. He saw red. “You're not my brother anymore. You will pay Dean.” the little boy grumbled._

 

***

 

Dean lowered his gun, slowly approaching his brother, “Michael, I'm sorry, I had no idea.”

 

“Don't. Don't you bitch.” Michael raised his gun again, aiming it at Dean's head.

 

“You're really going to shoot your brother, just like that?”

 

“I don't have a brother anymore. And I'm going to shoot you, with your own gun. And fuck it, it's going to be my gun. Cause it's time for me to take something from you!”

 

“We'll see about that.”

 

Both brothers held their guns at the ready, aimed at one another.

 

The air stood still.

 

Silence heavy.

 

Bang bang.

 

The first bullet lodged into the one good eye of Michael Winchester. He cried out, clutching at it, and flailing about, screaming. A hole went cleanly through his eye socket, and right out behind the ear, perfectly missing his brain.

 

Dean ducked his brother's bullet, getting pierced in the shoulder, a non fatal wound. He clutched his shoulder tightly, pull his shirt off with his other hand and tying it around the wound tightly. He limped over to his brother's body, still flailing about and screaming, clutching at his eye.

 

He pulled the sink down, knocked towels off the rakes, and crashed into the shower. He continued to scream as he did so. “You bitch! I'll kill you! How dare you! You take something of mine again!” He shouted in between screams of agony.

 

Dean picked up his gun, whipping it off on his pants. He walked towards the exit of Dick's trailer. He passed the Black Mamba on his way, which only hissed and stayed in it's spot. Dean holstered the gun, and tied it around his waist.

 

“Where are you! Get back here!” Michael screamed after him as Dean walked out into the desert air, shirtless, shoe less, covered in blood and grime. 


	10. Face to Face

**Last Chapter**

**Face**

**to**

**Face**

 

Dean sat at the wheel of his 1967 Chevy Impala, he was fully cleaned up, dressed, and healed. He rolled down the window as he soared through the jungles of Mexico. His music poured out the window, floating behind him.

 

_Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream_

_I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been_

_To sit with elders of the gentle race, this world has seldom seen_

_They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed_

 

_Talk and song from tongues of lilting grace, whose sounds caress my ear_

_But not a word I heard could I relate, the story was quite clear_

_Oh, oh._

 

He bounced along as his car drove over the bumpy unpaved road.

 

_Oh, I been flying... mama, there ain't no denyin'_

_I've been flying, ain't no denyin', no denyin'_

 

He pulls up out front of an old building, falling apart from age and poor construction. It has a straw top and signs boarding up the windows with words in Spanish.

 

_All I see turns to brown, as the sun burns the ground_

_And my eyes fill with sand, as I scan this wasted land_

_Trying to find, trying to find where I've been._

 

As he pulls up a mexican woman wearing a halter and mini skirt stands in the doorway, a basket of laundry in her arms. He can see behind her more women sitting about smoking. He winks at her as he cuts the engine.

 

_Oh, pilot of the storm who leaves no trace, like thoughts inside a dream_

_Heed the path that led me to that place, yellow desert stream_

_My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon, I will return a---_

 

Like most men who never knew their fathers, Crowley collected father like figures, the first, was Lucifer, and like the infamous angel he was named after, he has fallen greatly. Lucifer, a pimp, and a friend of Crowley's mother, owns a brothel in Acuna, Mexico for over 50 years. His army, the Acuna Boys, made up of the fatherless offspring of his whores, ran Acuna. He ran the Acuna boys. Now if anyone knew where Crowley was, it was this guy.

 

Dean walked through the brothel. There were women sitting and smoking, some laying in the shade, they all watched Dean closely.

 

He approached the older man say in a wicker chair in the middle of the room. He smoked a cigar and red from a red hardcover book. The book had _Paradise Lost_ written in golden calligraphy letters across the front.

 

As Dean approached he let out a puff of smoke, it billowed in the air around him.

 

“You Lucifer?”

 

The man looked up from his book. “Who wants to know?”

 

Dean glared. “Dean Winchester.”

 

Lucifer raised a brow and gestured to the chair across the table from him. Dean sat across from him.

 

“I know who you are. You know who I am. I know why you're here. So let's get this over with.” Lucifer waved a hand towards Dean.

 

Dean nodded, “Where's Crowley?”

 

Lucifer pursed his lips, “I like you. You get to the point. Not everyone does that, not even when I request.” Lucifer puts out his cigar and leans forward, looking into Dean's eyes. “Eh. Personally, I can't see what he sees in you, but then again, you're not my type.” Lucifer waves a hand around him, gesturing to the women laying around. “I'm strictly a ladies man. But Crowley, he's always been more into Dick, and I don't mean his brother.” Lucifer chuckles at his own joke. Dean continues to stare at him.

 

Lucifer sits back in his chair, letting out a sigh, “As you know, I've known Crowley since he was a little boy. His mother wanted him to have a responsible adult male figure in his life, or some bullshit. I gave him that. Taught him how to stick up for bullies, how to forge his mother's signature on teacher's notes, and how to get the girls to like him. One day he comes home from school, crying. Yeah I bet you didn't know that, he was always such a crybaby, little bugger. Anyways, he's crying, and he tells me 'I did what you said to and Cindy wants to eat lunch with me now tomorrow, I don't want to eat lunch with Cindy.' Now, mind you, he was in tears and snot, so I could barely understand him, had to interpret most of it.”

 

Lucifer smiles, looking off in the distance. “So I said, 'That's fine buddy, you don't need to eat lunch with Cindy, Love em' and leave em' that's what you gotta do. What girl do you want to eat lunch with?' And the little brat gets all quiet and won't look me in the eye. So I pick him up and sit him on the table and make him look me in the eye. 'I said, what girl do you want to eat lunch with? No prodigy of mine is going to be anti-social and eating lunch by himself.' And that just made him burst into tears further.”

 

“Your'e a real prince, you know that?” Dean interrupts.

 

Lucifer frowns, “Will you let me finish my story, or do you want to interrupt?” Dean shrugs, but fall silent.

 

“So, as I was saying, after we got the niagra falls to stop, I get a name out of the kid- 'Johnny', or something, the name doesn't real matter, point is- it was a boys name. So I as like 'So what are you queer kid?', and he's a kid so of course he doesn't know what that means. But I was just like, well what are you going to do? So I told him it's okay if you like boys, just don't tell your mother. I think his mother, to her grave, thought he was going to meet a nice girl sometime.” Lucifer is grinning as he finishes the story.

 

“Fascinating story, but are you gonna tell me where he is?”

 

“Right, to the point. Yeah I'll tell you where he is. Know why I'm gonna tell you?”

 

“Cause he's a dick that doesn't send you Christmas cards anymore?”

 

“Cute, but no. He's waiting for you Dean. That's why I'm going to tell you.”

 

“Great. But that's doesn't scare me.” Dean grins.

 

“Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't if you survived being shot 30 times. Y'know, I would've made sure you would never get back up. Would've personally stamped your passport to hell.”

 

Dean just stares, “Well it's a good thing you only like women then.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Yes. Well you better not keep him waiting much longer.”

 

Lucifer slips a piece a paper from his pocket across the table to Dean.

 

Dean takes it and pockets it. Walking out with a wave behind him.

 

***

 

Dean drives down the road in his black Chevy. He taps his fingers along the steering wheel.

 

Tap tap tap.

 

He pulls up a driveway to a large iron white gate and waves to the security guard. They opens the gate immediately to him.

 

He drives up the long winding road to Crowley's hacienda at the top of the hill.

 

It is made of red clay, with a thatched roof. All one floor but taking up the entire block.

 

Dean pulls into the round drive in front of the estate, parking right in front of the entrance.

 

Dean draws his gun as he cautiously enters the home, holding it before him.

 

The front room is a lounge with a white leather sofa and a large screen tv and a full stocked bar.

 

Dean walks past it and made his way to the kitchen.

 

The house is quiet.

 

Upon finding the kitchen empty Dean steps out onto the patio. What he finds causes him to drop his gun.

 

In the middle of the patio is his fiance, tied to a chair, with a gun held to head by Crowley.

 

“Cas ...” He whispers.

 

“Hello Dean.” His fiance, Castiel, replies.

 

“Lovely reunion, heat-warming really, but why don't you kick that gun over here Deanie?” Crowley snipes.

 

Dean kicks the gun at his feet to Crowley, who bends to obtain it.

 

“Great. Now sit in the chair.” Crowley waves his gun towards the chair across from Castiel.

 

Dean's eyes are tearing up as he takes the seat across from his missing fiance.

 

“You shouldn't have come Dean.” Castiel chastises.

 

“I'd always come for you baby.”

 

Crowley snorts. “That's lovely, really heart-felt, but we all know you didn't know he was alive.”

 

Crowley fetches a length of rope from the patio table and ties Dean's arms to the chair, securing him.

 

As he ties he sighs, “Doesn't Dean look lovely tonight Castiel? A real shine to him I'd say. It must've taken you forever to wash all that blood out of your hair.”

 

Dean glares, “Well I didn't wash it, seeing as I was in a coma. It was probably a nurse.”

 

“Oh of course. But it looks so bright, were you sunbathing? Got some nice blond highlights it looks like, and such a lovely tan.” He strokes a hand down Dean's arm, and he flinches.

 

Castiel growls.

 

Crowley smirks at him, “Don't like me playing with your lover boy Cassie? You know he was mine first.”

 

“I was never yours Crowley.” Dean growls.

 

“You belonged to me Dean.” Crowley pulls the binds tighter, and then steps away with a clap.

 

“Now the gang's all here! Now the fun can begin! If you'll excuse me boys, I got to go retrieve the party favors. Why don't you catch up while I'm gone?” Crowley disappears back into the house.

 

Tears begin to slip down Dean's face, “Oh god Cas, I thought you were dead.” He chokes. “I … I … if I'd known – god I would've come sooner. Oh god. What'd he do to you Cas?”

 

Castiel stares at Dean, taking in every inch of him, his own eyes starting to tear up. “Dean, the only thing keeping me alive was knowing that you were still out there. That Crowley couldn't get you. And you still came. You should've ran Dean.”

 

“Fuck Cas. Why do you always gotta be so logical? I was dead without you. Without Sam, and Jo. God I was alive, but I wasn't living. I would've gladly died a million times just for you to live.”

 

Castiel was already shaking his head before Dean had finished, but he didn't get to respond.

 

“Oh isn't that lovely. Really Dean, I didn't know you had it in you. And all for this robotic performing monkey? Geez, you know how much I tortured him? Used every single thing Alastair has ever taught me, and he never made a single peep. Not a cry, not a tear, not a yelp, or scream. But the second I mention, casually mind you, that I'm going to rip your throat out in front of him as soon as you arrive, he goes berserk. So how'd you do it? Teach Pinocchio to be a real boy?” Crowley re-entered the room, waving a knife around as he spoke. He also carried a small black satchel under his arm.

 

“It was easy once I showed him what a conscious was after working for you for so long.” Dean sneered.

 

“Oh that's a low blow. And you know that everything I asked him to do he did without arguing, I'm not the one at fault there. Boy was a natural born soldier.”

 

“Well I don't kill for you anymore.” Castiel growled in a low voice.

 

“Yeah, well, that's all too bad, because if you'd never left my employ, neither of you would be in this mess right now. Now I'm going to tell you what I'm gonna do right now.” Crowley put the knife and satchel onto the table and unzipped the satchel, it fell open to reveal a series of syringes. Crowley carefully removed the first one, filled with a clear liquid. “This is a home brewed liquid, boys. Castiel is already plenty familiar with it, aren't you angel?”

 

Castiel grunts.

 

Crowley chuckles, “Yes we've had a lot of fun while you were gone Dean. Now this is the most powerful truth serum known to man, I like to call it the Undisputed Truth. Now, it's not as fun as the old fashioned way of interrogation, I ask you a question, you lie to me, I stab you till you tell me an answer I like, so I'm going to stab you anyways. That's what the knife is for. But you won't be able to lie to me.”

 

Crowley stabs Dean in the thigh with the syringe and plunges it. He grunts, gritting his teeth. With his other hand he stabs Castiel. Castiel maintains eye contact with Dean, not flinching.

 

“Oh boy, now the ball's about to get rolling. So the first thing I'm curious about, is the whole running away and starting a normal life bit. Really? You would've settled for mediocrity. Now I know Dean came from that sort of lifestyle, poverty, orphaned young, raising two brothers, doing what's what to get by and all, but I saved you from all that. I designed you Dean. I've never seen such a natural killer, except for maybe Castiel.”

 

His head swivels to Cas. “Now you I don't understand. There's just no fucking way that you could play normal, I mean you've seen you right? Your fucking time bomb. He was born into this bullshit. How do you, a little baby assassin with two assassin parents, and a history of taking orders, subscribe to domesticity? Can you imagine Castiel cooking dinner, or maybe gardening?”

 

Crowley breaks into giggles. He turns to Dean, gesturing with his knife at Castiel and laughing. Dean stares at him.

 

“I do not understand what is funny about domesticity.” Castiel states.

 

“Well that's just it, isn't it? You don't understand. You don't know how to be normal Castiel. You weren't born normal. And Dean you're so far above normal. You were nearly perfect. Other than the fact that you refused to put-out you were perfect.”

 

“I put out. Just not for a slime ball like you! In fact Castiel and I had lots of rigorous sex, in many positions, and right under your nose!” Dean yells.

 

Crowley stabs his thigh with knife, right where the syringe had been. “Don't speak out of turn.”

 

“And that's the next thing I don't understand. Nobody pulls one over on me. And I mean nobody. So how'd you manage it?” Both of them continue to stare at each other. Crowley twists the knife in Dean's thigh. “Hmm?”

 

Dean grunts, and grits his teeth. “Cas has a great poker face.”

 

“Ha cute. Fine. Let's warm up to that.” Crowley pulls the knife from Dean's thigh and stabs it into Cas.

 

“No!” Dean shouts out, struggling in his chair.

 

Crowley puts a hand to his thigh, stilling him. “Nu uh uh Dean. You see, I've found the best way to motivate you two is to hurt the other. So Dean, all that killing you did, all my henchmen, now you were supposed to be out of the game, but you're still a killer, aren't you?”

 

“Yes.” Dean whispers.

 

“But you thought you could just live a normal life. Start a family maybe, be a stay at home mom? But you would have still been a killer, right?” Crowley pulls the knife up Cas' thigh, slicing it open further.

 

“Yes!” Dean shouts out.

 

“It never would've really worked out, the whole domesticity plan, would it?”

 

“No!”

 

“Good.” Crowley pulls the knife from Castiel's thigh. “See what happens when you cooperate?”

 

Crowley sits back in his own chair, knife in hand.

 

“Now. The question we've all been waiting for. Why'd you leave? Yes I would've been pissed to find out you'd left me for this fool.” Crowley waves his knife to Castiel. “But we could've still worked something out. I mean you already did missions together all the fucking time.” Crowley's lip twitched. “That was it, wasn't it? You went on missions together so you could shag up. Clever.” He chuckles.

 

Dean sighs. “It was that mission, in Philly. You remember the one? With Lisa? Well Cas took some fire, and it was a close one. After I patched him up we took up in the Toreador Motel ...”

 

***

 

_Castiel leaned against Dean's side, an arm wrapped around his shoulder as they approached the front desk._

 

_A bored looking teen girl with pink pigtails stood at the desk, chewing on gum, and reading a magazine._

 

“ _Can we uh, get a room?” Dean asked._

 

_The girl looked up. She looked at Dean, and then her eyes swept across to Castiel, landing on the arm wrapped around his shoulder. “Queen?”_

 

“ _Yes.” Castiel said._

 

“ _No.” Dean growled at the same time._

 

_She smirked as she clicked at her computer. “And what name should I put that under?”_

 

“ _Smith.” Dean said immediately._

 

“ _Right … And how will you be paying for that?”_

 

“ _Cash._

 

_The girl grinned widely as she continued to type. “That'll be a $275 deposit. That includes one night, and $100 room deposit that you will get back after check-out if the room is in good order.”_

 

_Dean slid a pile of bills across the counter to her._

 

_She held them in front of her, counting them, and then putting them into her cash register. “Will you be needing one key or two?”_

 

“ _Two.”_

 

_She typed again._

 

_She pulled two cards from beneath the desk and slid them across the counter to Dean. “That's room 145. Have a good night.” She winked._

 

_Dean grumbled as he took the cards and handed one to Castiel._

 

_Together they walked to their room, Castiel continuing to lean on Dean._

 

_When they were in the room they quickly lost their clothes and laid down on the bed holding each other._

 

_Castiel fit his head beneath Dean's chin, breathing in deeply. “I wish we could always be like this.”_

 

“ _We could you know. Just tell Crowley to go fuck himself, and I'd be all yours baby.”_

 

_Castiel huffed a laugh. “You know that wouldn't work. He'd purposely keep us apart, or worse, kill one of us.”_

 

_Dean gripped Castiel tighter. “It'd probably be you. He likes me too much.”_

 

“ _Yeah, likes you a little too much.” Castiel grumbled._

 

_Dean laughed, relaxing into Castiel. “You know you're the only one for me. There's nothing between Crowley and me, despite what that sleeze ball thinks.”_

 

_Castiel sighed, relaxing deeper into Dean. “I trust you. But there's still no way we could leave.”_

 

“ _Well that's just it Cas. We leave. Like for good. Leave the business, find a nice little house, maybe somewhere near my brother. Start a life, a family maybe.”_

 

“ _Dean, you know that's impossible.”_

 

“ _Is it Cas?”_

 

_Dean kisses the top of Castiel's head._

 

“ _It is. Crowley would find us.”_

 

_Castiel looked up to Dean. He was biting his lip, his eyes clouded._

 

_Dean leaned down a placed a kiss on Castiel's lips. He went to pull away but Castiel chased after him, deepening the kiss. They finally pulled apart, each smiling at the other._

 

“ _We'd go under Cas. So deep Crowley'd never find us. It'd work. I'd make it work. I'd do it, for you.”_

 

“ _That'd be nice.” Castiel sighs again, his eyes falling closed._

 

“ _I love you babe. And one day, I'm gonna marry you. It's gonna work. I promise. I know a guy, he can help us disappear. You'll never have to hold a gun again.”_

 

_Castiel hummed._

 

_His breathing slowed._

 

_He began to snuffle in his sleep._

 

_Dean smiled, pulling Castiel onto his side and lying up against him. He kissed the back of his head. “I promise. It'll work.” He whispered as he too fell asleep._

 

***

 

A tear dipped down Castiel's cheek. “Dean, it didn't work.”

 

“Aww, boo hoo. What a lovely story. I laughed, I cried, I felt. So sweet.” Crowley said.

 

Dean glared. “Y'know, five years ago, I would've said never on a cold day in hell would Crowley pop me one.”

 

“And you were wrong, now weren't you?” Crowley stabbed the table with his knife.

 

“After you two knuckleheads didn't check in, I figured you dead. So I went looking for the bodies. No bodies. No blood. No trail. So I sent an undercover. You've probably heard about Ruby and that loveable oaf of a brother of yours now haven't you Dean?”

 

Dean glares.

 

Castiel looks at Crowley, his mouth gaping, “You brought Sam in the game?”

 

“He was never part of this!” Dean shouts.

 

“He was always part of this! The second I took you in! The second I gave you money for that knit wit to go to that fancy ass school. The second you betrayed me! You made me!” Crowley shouts, jumping from his seat and knocking the chair down.

 

“And don't even dare tell me Ruby didn't tell you how she seduced that gullible. Dead. Whore-loving. Giant.” Crowley moved to shout in Dean's face the last part. Dean's face was red. He kicked his boot back, a knife protruding from the tip and shoved it up into Crowley's crotch.

 

Crowley shouted out, grabbing at his crotch as he fell over, screaming.

 

“You son of a bitch! Bastard! Cock-Sucker!”

 

Dean scooted his chair forward and put his foot onto Castiel's lap so he could cut the binds on his arm.

 

Castiel's arm was freed quickly, and he pulled off Dean's boot.

 

Crowley crawled to the table to retrieve his knife and was on Castiel before he could free his other bind.

 

Castiel uses Dean's boot knife to block Crowley's, but it is small and breaks at the force of Crowleys.

 

Castiel uses the boot to block the next attack.

 

Dean throws himself at Crowley, tipping over and crushing Crowley under him.

 

In the struggle Crowley drops his knife, and Dean picks it up, cutting through his bindings.

 

Castiel frees himself from the other knot.

 

Crowley, throws Dean's chair back, with Dean in it.

 

Dean's head bangs against the cement patio, and he curses.

 

Thump.

 

“Fuck!”

 

Castiel jumps on Crowley's back before he can charge Dean again, and puts him into a headlock.

 

Crowley tries to knock Castiel off, swinging wildly.

 

Dean recovers from his tumble and charges Crowley.

 

Dean stabs the knife into Crowley, twists and pulls, and Crowley's heart falls out into his palm, still attached by an artery and dripping blood onto Dean's hand and chest.

 

Castiel drops from Crowley, releasing his hold.

 

“The Walking Heart Attack? Alastair taught you?” Crowley coughs up, blood spluttering from his mouth.

 

“Of course he did motherfucker. I was his favorite.”

 

Crowley laughs.

 

“Of course you are.”

 

Crowley wipes off his suit jacket.

 

“How do I look?”

 

Dean wipes a finger across his mouth, pulling it back with blood. “Great boss.” Dean hands Crowley his heart.

 

Dean and Castiel step away from Crowley, stepping next to one another. They join hands.

 

Crowley takes a step forward and collapses to the ground.

 

Castiel and Dean leave the house.

 

Dean wipes the blood onto his jeans before opening the door to his car. “Don't get any blood on my baby.”

 

“I thought I was your baby Dean.”

 

Dean chuckles. “I meant the car Cas.”

 

They drive down the curved drive.


	11. The Next Morning

 

**The Next Morning**

 

Castiel lay asleep on the bed beside Dean. He watched him.

 

Dean reached a hand out to smooth Castiel's hair.

 

Castiel's eyes popped open, following Dean's movements.

 

“Hey babe.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Sorry I woke you.”

 

“It's fine Dean. I do not require a lot of sleep.”

 

Dean smiled. “You always used to say that.”

 

“Well it's still true.”

 

Dean chuckled “But I'm sure you haven't gotten any sleep in the past four years.”

 

Castiel smiled. “That is also true. But I would prefer not to sleep right now.”

 

Castiel scooted closer to Dean till they were right up against one another.

 

Castiel rubbed a hand down Dean's side, tracing from his shoulder, to his chest, around his hip, and down his thigh. “I dreamnt about this moment for four years.”

 

“Me too babe.”

 

Dean leaned forward to kiss Castiel, slowly opening himself to him. Their tongues swirled around one another. It was slow and relaxed, much as their last year had not been.

 

_The hunter lays down his gun for his soulmate, and there is peace in the world._

 

KILL CROWLEY

Featuring

**Meg Masters**

**as**

**Vernita Green**

**AKA**

**Copperhead**

 

**Ruby**

**as**

**O-Ren Ishii**

**AKA**

**Cottonmouth**

 

**Dick Roman**

**as**

**Budd**

**AKA**

**Sidewinder**

 

**Michael**

**as**

**Elle Driver**

**AKA**

**California Mountain Snake**

 

_**and** _

 

**Crowley**

**as**

**Bill**

**AKA**

**The Snake Charmer**

 

**Also Featuring**

 

**Dean Winchester**

**as**

**Beatrix Kiddo**

**AKA**

**The Groom**

**AKA**

**Black Mamba**

**AKA**

**Author's Note:**

> So I hate posting long things... cause the formatting always sucks. It's always impossible to get it to look perfectly like it should. blah blah blah. So if I messed up anything, please let me know. I'd also appreciate any comments! And... I'll be embedding the artwork soon, maybe. If I get some free time, and you know, I'm not too lazy. But until then you can view and comment on the artwork that corresponds with this piece here; http://abstradreams.livejournal.com/ . This fic is not currently posted to my lj journal, because I couldn't be bothered (haha I REALLY hate formatting these things), but you can find my journal here, http://landahoymateys.livejournal.com/ . But please leave all comments for this fic, here! Thanks, hope you enjoyed!
> 
> F.Y.I comments about the Character Deaths tag, because people are always weary- it follows the movies. So everyone that dies in the movies dies here. Which is, pretty much everyone. The sole survivors are the two main characters- Dean and Castiel. Sam is dead in this fic, although he's dead from the beginning, so it's not really a main focus and there's no sad drawn out death scene. The only really "death scenes" are of the bad guys.


End file.
